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THESE HANDS YOU MAY CRUSH, THESE ARMS 
YOU MAY SEVER.’ 





UnderCalvin’sSpell 

\ 

A Tale of the 

H EROIC T IMES 
in 

Old Geneva 


By 

DEBORAH ALCOCK 

Author 

“The Spanish Brothers,” &c. 



New York Chicago Toronto 

FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY 



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CONTENTS 


chapter 

I. The Nuns of St. Claire . • 

• 

• 

• 

rAGB 

5 

II. 

The Story of Ami Berthelier . 

• 

• 

t 

14 

III. 

‘The Great White Throne’ 


• 

• 

29 

IVT^French Exiles and Genevan Libertines 

• 

• 

42 

V. 

De Caulaincourt’s Two Friends 

. 

• 

• 

52 

VI. 

Norbert de Caulaincourt’s One Friend 

• 

• 

61 

VII. 

Sister Claudine .... 

• 

• 

• 

74 

VIII. 

The New Geneva . . . 

• 

• 

• 

87 

IX. 

A Disaster and an Appeal • 

• 

• 

• 

102 

X. 

A Gleam of Light . . • 

• 

• 

• 

114 

XI. 

Is there any Help ? . . , 

• 

• 

• 

128 

XII. 

A ‘Gentleman of the Spoon’ . 

• 

• 

• 

142 

XIII. 

The Genevan Bride . . , 

• 

• 

• 

151 

XIV. 

An Unexpected Meeting . • 

• 

• 

• 

170 

XV. 

A Savoyard Hovel 

• 

• 

• 

179 

XVI. 

Ami Berthelier finds a Friend . 

• 

• 

• 

186 

XVII. 

Before the Great Council 

• 

• 

• 

202 

XVIII. 

Norbert de Caulaincourt is thanked 

• 

• 

212 

XIX. 

The ‘ Egregious ’ Ami Berthelier 

• 

• 

• 

218 

XX. 

A Gentleman of the Spoon again 

• 

• 

• 

231 

XXL 

Renunciation .... 

• 

• 

• 

241 

XXII. 

A Dreaded Interview . . ■ , 

• 

• 

• 

249 


Contents 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXIII. Norbert’s Errand •••••• 258 

XXIV. Lyons 267 

XXV. In the Prison . 279 

XXVI. In the Cathedral 289 

XXVII. Dark Days 297 

XXVIII. Old Things pass away 308 

XXIX. Bearing the Burden of the Years • • • 317 

XXX. ‘Go IN Peace’ . . , . • • 331 

XXXI. The Passing of Calvin • • • • .340 

XXXII. The End ••••••••357 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING PAGE 

“These Hands You May Crush, These Arms You 
May Sever” Title 

' “Thank God!” he said with emotion, “His Free 
City!” . . . • 29 

i “Let Us Play Together the Game of the Key” 94 

4 “Oh, Sir, Have Pity, Have Pity!” 112 

4 A Person in a Notary’s Robe Began to Read . .119 

“Damioselle, I Drink to Your Health and 
Happiness” 147 

'The Veil Was Raised, Just a Little 154 

Some Clung to the Pillars, Some Got Up Into 
THE Windows • . 202 


n 1 At A Sign From Him the Bearers Stopped . . . 220 


FACING PAGE 


J He Knelt on One Knee and Stretched Out His 
Hand 236 

Norbert Drew Nearer, and Stood Listening . . 269 

• They Soon Came To The Gloomy Gateway . .28c 

4 The Torchlight Showed Him a Figure That 
Crouched on the Floor • . 290 

As Gabrielle Entered He Turned and Looked 
AT Her 304 

She Only Said One Word — “Victor” .... 334 


UNDER CALVIN’S SPELL 


CHAPTER I 

THE NUNS OF ST. CLAIRE 

I T was very early, not yet five o’clock, on a dull and 
cloudy August morning, in the old city of Geneva, 
more than three centuries and a half ago. Already 
a crowd had gathered about the stately gateway that 
led to the convent of the nuns of St. Claire. There 
were a few sober citizens, in gowns or doublets of good 
serge, who lent to the rest an air of respectability they 
much needed, being mostly the lowest of the people, 
rough men, and idle street boys who were jesting, 
shouting and playing pranks on each other and on the 
bystanders after the manner of their kind. But amidst 
their discordant and often meaningless cries was one 
which ever rose above the rest, * Down with the Mass ! ’ 
‘ Hold thy peace, malapert urchin ! ’ said a man in a 
cassock, administering to one of the shouters a sound 
box on the ear. ‘ ’ Tis little thou knowest ; — Down 
with the Mass” means “Up with the School.” And 
may thy master never spoil f/tee by sparing the rod ! ’ 

5 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

‘Take that for your blow ! ’ the boy retorted, pulling 
off his assailant’s round cap and flinging it into the 
gutter. 

* Prithee, stand you back ! ’ cried a third speaker. ‘ Let 
us see the fair faces of the ladies as they pass out. The 
council hath dealt with them better than they deserve, 
giving them courteous leave to depart whither they 
would, and a covered waggon for the infirm.’ 

‘ A covered waggon, forsooth ! A bath in the lake 
would have served them better,’ said another. ‘ We are 
well rid of them and of all their pestilent brood. Curse 
them ! ’ 

The cassock wearer turned on him indignantly. 

‘ What did the nuns of St. Claire to thee or thine, that 
thou shouldest curse them ? Look to thyself, heretic. 
Curses, like chickens, come home to roost.’ 

‘ Hush I no brawling here,’ spake the voice of authority, 
as the crowd fell back before one of the syndics, or chief 
magistrates of the town. ‘ Stand back — stand back ! 
The ladies are coming forth. For our honour, children 
of Geneva, let them not hear an ill word among us.’ 

The peremptory voice of the syndic secured 
obedience ; and the people stood in momentary 
silence, looking at the great gate which so long had 
been closed upon the world outside. They knew what 
it had shut out — but what had it shut m, all those 
years ? 

As they looked the gate trembled, shook, as if about 
to be opened from within. Twice, thrice, it seemed 
ready to give way, yet still its fastenings held. Perhaps 
the hands of the aged porter, who was trying to open 
it, trembled too much for his task. For indeed it was 

6 


The Nuns of St. Claire 


a sad one. The nuns of St. Claire were going forth for 
ever from the ancient house of their order — to some of 
them the only home they had ever known, Geneva had 
accepted the Reformation ; and the religious houses 
were to be transformed into schools or hospitals. Their 
inmates, however, were free to remain in the city, or to 
leave it, as they pleased. In either case no one would 
molest them. The nuns of St. Claire had chosen to 
leave. They were going to another house of their 
order, at Annegy. 

While the crowd stood waiting, a white-haired, feeble- 
looking man made his way to the front. He was very 
lame, leaning heavily on a staff, and his long threadbare 
coat hung loose on his wasted frame. His face was 
worn and his cheeks hollow, but his eyes were bright 
and keen, and burning with eager expectation. The 
crowd made way for him with a kind of respect, and 
the man of authority gave him place to stand beside 
him. While he murmured a word of thanks, there was 
a general movement. All eyes turned to the great 
gate as at last it swung wide open. 

Two and two, in mournful silence, holding each 
others’ hands, the black-robed, close-veiled nuns came 
forth. At the head of the sad procession walked the 
aged lady superior, bent and trembling, her head 
bowed low, and her tottering footsteps supported by 
the stronger arm of the prioress, a tall and stately 
personage, who marched on, erect and steady, holding 
a crucifix aloft and chanting in a firm voice the Salve, 
Regina. She knew that the prayer to the Queen of 
Heaven was blasphemy to her hearers. So much the 
worse for them ! 


7 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

A piercing cry stopped the chant. ‘Claudine! 
Claudine ! My sister ! * 

The white-haired man had flung himself upon one 
of the nuns who was following the prioress. She had 
been walking with bowed head, weeping quietly behind 
her veil, which now, in surprise and terror, she flung 
partially aside. Her face was sweet and pleasant to 
look upon, though perhaps it had never been beautiful, 
not even in youth. Her soft brown hair was still 
untouched with grey, and her brow and cheek still 
unwrinkled. It seemed as though life had dealt gently 
with her, and so, after one great agony, in truth it had. 
She listened with troubled looks to the pleading voice 
of her brother. ‘ Come with me, my sister, come with 
me, I need you ! ’ he went on, not aloud, but in a low, 
intense, half-choking whisper. 

She shrank away from him in bewildered terror. 
‘No, no,’ she faltered. ‘Oh no, I am the bride of 
Christ.’ 

Still he clung to her. ‘ Look at me, Claudine, only 
look at me,’ he pleaded. ‘ I am Ami, your brother, 
whom you loved so in the old, old days. Do you not 
remember ? ’ 

Then she looked at him, looked earnestly, wistfully ; 
and a new light dawned in her dim blue eyes. ‘ Yes, I 
remember,’ she said dreamily. ‘ The old days ! — But 
they are past, so long past— I am dead to the world. 
Let me go I ’ 

Still he held her fast. ‘ Claudine,’ he pleaded, ‘ look 
on me yet again.’ 

She looked again. ‘ But you are not Ami. You are 
an old man, a stranger,’ she said, doubt shadowing her 

8 


The Nuns of St. Claire 


face. Then, in an altered tone, ‘ And I cannot talk with 
you. See, we are stopping the way. I must go.’ 

‘ You shall not go, Claudine ! Hear me ! By the 
memory of our orphaned childhood, when I was father 
and mother both to thee ’ 

Here the prioress turned and spoke. * What means 
this unmannerly interruption ? ’ she asked sternly. ‘ Was 
it not covenanted we should go in peace, without let or 
hindrance ? Is this your heretic faith-keeping ? Man, 
stand back ! Touch not the holy sister, the bride of 
Christ’ Then, in the voice of unquestioned authority, 
‘ Sister Agatha, come on.’ 

The frail form of the broken man seemed to dilate, 
and he .‘=poke with a kind of majesty, ‘ She whom you 
call Sister Agatha is my sister, Claudine Berthelier. 
She is coming home with me.’ 

‘She shall not! Sister Agatha, remember yourself 
and your vows. Pass on ! Master syndic, fulfil your 
promise, and bid them clear the way.’ 

The man of authority cleared his throat and looked 
irresolute. ‘ If the lady will ’ he began. 

* She will keep her vows. Come, sister.’ 

Claudine’s bewildered eyes turned piteously from one 
to the other. Her colour came and went, she looked 
about to faint. But she did not stir, and made no 
movement to shake off her brother’s grasp. 

Then, at last, the lady superior interposed. ‘Let 
Sister Agatha choose,’ she said, in the weak, quavering 
voice of old age. ‘ Sister, what wouldest thou ? ’ 

‘Yes, choose,’ said the prioress sternly. ‘ Come with 
us, and keep thy vows ; or go back to the world thou 
hast renounced, and lose thy soul for ever.’ 

9 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

‘ If God give thee not repentance/ the lady superior 
said. * But choose, Sister Agatha, for we must go.’ 

Claudine trembled exceedingly. Like a flood, the 
days of her youth swept back upon her. But then, there 
was the habit of half a life-time, there were her vows, 
there was what she thought her duty to God. She had 
no power to decide. 

Ami’s strong will decided for her. He placed his 
arm in hers, and with gentle force he drew her away. It 
was time : too long already they had stopped the way. 
The lady superior turned from her with a sad ‘ Fare 
you well ; ’ the prioress with a stern, ‘ God forgive you,’ 
which might have been rendered, ‘I believe He never will.’ 

Ami led his sister through the throng, for the most 
part silent and respectful, save for the jeers of a few 
impudent street boys at the runaway nun. When they 
got into a quiet street he said, ‘ We have something of 
a walk before us, for I dwell beyond the bridge, in the 
Rue Cornavin. My lodging is poor, but comfortable, 
and I have had a chamber prepared for you. I knew 
you would come to me.’ 

She had walked on with him mechanically, as one 
amazed. Or rather, in such bewilderment as one 
transplanted suddenly into another world might feel. 
Streets, houses, passers-by — all were a marvel. The 
boys who jeered at her were not a marvel only, but a 
horror. Even the ground beneath her feet gave her a 
sense of unreality, with which there mingled strangely 
a feeling of wrong-doing. She was where she had no 
right to be — and where she had no place. So many 
houses, so many people, so many faces — and all 
unknown to her. 


10 


The Nuns of St. Claire 


But hearing her brother speak, she tried to rouse 
herself. In her bewildered brain the instincts of 
gentle birth and breeding asserted their sway. She 
made courteous effort to respond, though scarce under- 
standing his words. ‘ You live alone, then ? * 

‘ There is always Marguerite.* 

Claudine’s dazed, perplexed face showed absolutely 
a gleam of pleasure. ‘ The dear old nurse ! ’ she said. 
‘ But no — it cannot be. She would be a hundred years 
old/ 

A dim smile hovered round Berthelier’s firm, 
clear-cut lips. ‘She is just sixty-three,* he said. ‘It 
is but sixteen years since we parted, and she was not 
old then, save to you and me.* 

‘ Sixteen years ? I had thought it scarce so long. 
In Religion, hours are long, but years are short.* 

‘I had thought it far longer. Besides Marguerite, 
there is the child.* 

‘ What child ? * with a faint accent of surprise. 

* A few years ago, when we feared an attack from 
the Savoyards and the League, we laid waste our own 
suburbs, by way of defence. You heard of it, of 
course } * 

But Claudine shook her head. 

‘The people came into the city for shelter, even 
from St. Gervais. Marguerite and I came too, though 
the Rue Cornavin was not destroyed. We gave refuge 
in our lodging to peasants from the country, a man and 
a woman, who died there of the fever, leaving this little 
babe. Marguerite must needs tend and feed her, and — 
what would you have ? Could I put the babe out upon 
the door-step ? * 


II 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

‘You could have brought it to a convent.* 

Berthelier shrugged his shoulders, and was silent. 
Presently he resumed, ‘Marguerite took good care 
of the babe, but now the child grows and — I want 
you.* 

‘For her?* with a sense of disappointment she did 
not herself understand. 

‘ More for myself.* 

Silence followed ; until at last Claudine, whose 
senses seemed slowly returning to her, ventured a 
question, ‘ Brother, what has made you white-haired, 
and so lame ? * 

‘I thought you knew. The dungeon and the pulley. 
But they got nothing out of me. And I have had my 
revenge. What we fought for has been won, though 
not by us, nor in our way.* 

‘ I do not understand,' said Claudine. After a pause 
she added, ‘ But I hope, brother, you have not forsaken 
the Faith, and become a heretic like the rest. Your 
soul would be lost for ever.* 

The dim smile came again. ‘I do not believe as 
you,* he said. ‘ But take comfort ; for as little do I 
believe the new doctrines of Master William Farrel and 
Master John Calvin. And perchance at bottom I hold 
these gentlemen no better than the priests. Still, they 
have done our work for us.* 

‘ I do not understand,* Claudine said again, this time 
rather piteously. 

‘ One of the many things I want you for, my sister,* 
Ami added kindly, ‘is to teach little Gabrielle her 
prayers, for Marguerite in her old age must needs go 
after the new doctrine, while I think the old — if not so 
12 


The Nuns of St. Claire 


good for strong men — far meeter for little maids. But 
at last here we are.* 

‘ This house, with the bookbinder’s sign ? * 

* No, the next. But cross yourself, Claudine, as you 
pass ; for there has just come to live Master Calvin’s 
own brother, who binds his books for him.’ 

As Berthelier approached his own door a beautiful 
little girl, dark-eyed and dark -haired, sprang out and 
flung herself upon him with a rapturous, overflowing 
welcome. 

‘ Softly — softly ! ’ said he. ‘ Beware of my staff and 
my lame leg. Gabrielle, this is my dear sister, and your 
good Aunt Claudine, who is coming to live with us, and 
take care of you and me. Go to her, kiss her hand, and 
ask her to love you.’ 

The child hung back, pouting. ‘I don’t like her 
clothes,’ she said, ‘ and I don’t want any one to love me 
but you and Marguerite.* 

Berthelier looked at his sister. ‘You see already 
that you are needed here,’ he said. ‘ Neither Marguerite 
nor I know aught that should be done for a child, except 
to love it. But come in, my sister. Welcome to my 
home, 0^ rather, to your owiu* 


13 


CHAPTER II 


THE STORY OF AMI BERTHELIER 

‘But freedom’s battle, once begun, 

Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son, 

Though baffled oft, is ever won.* 

W HEN the fair city of Lake Leman accepted the 
Reformation, she had already felt the glory 
and the glow of the rising sun of liberty. 
Some twenty years before, she had cast off the chains 
of a two-fold tyranny, which in truth was but one. For 
behind the crozier of the cruel, profligate prince-bishop 
were the sword and sceptre of the Duke of Savoy ; and 
bishop and duke together had pressed her down until 
the burden grew too heavy to be borne, and her citizens 
asked each other in shop and market-place, ‘ Why should 
we bear it any longer ? * 

They were very capable of asking the question, and 
of finding the answer. Their faculties were trained and 
quickened by the social and municipal life of a busy 
town, by commerce, by skilful handicrafts, often by travel, 
sometimes by all of intellectual advantage the Age could 
offer — and it was the Age of the Renaissance. For 
them, as for most of their contemporaries, the Time 
was young; it was full of activity, of expectation, of 

14 


The Story of Ami Berthelier 

promise — full also of the faults of youth, of rashness, 
audacity, and petulance, and of the ignorance which 
is absolutely sure of everything in heaven and upon 
earth. 

Still, when the Time is young, it is well with those 
that are young also. Such was the lot of Ami Berthelier, 
the orphan of a wealthy citizen of Geneva, who had 
more than doubled his possessions by marriage with the 
heiress of one of the merchant princes of Augsburg, 
with whom he had business relations. The young 
Berthelier, educated at Padua, caught the spirit of 
the Renaissance, and learned to love well his classical 
lore, his Latin verses, his library, his ‘ brown Greek 
manuscript’ But better still he loved the dream of 
a free, regenerated Geneva. He was a young man of 
fashion, a student, a scholar, but before all these he was a 
citizen of Geneva, and heart and soul a Huguenot. This 
name of honour and renown had as yet no religious 
significance ; religion entered not at all into the thoughts 
of such men as Ami Berthelier ; to them it meant merely 
the member of a league, at first and ostensibly a league 
of cornhourgeoisie with the friendly citizens of Fribourg, 
but really and ultimately a league for the defence of the 
ancient liberties of Geneva. His chief friends were the 
brilliant and versatile Bonivard, the celebrated Prior of 
St. Victor, known to history, romance and poetry as 
the Prisoner of Chillon ; L^vrier, the incorruptible judge, 
most stainless of Genevan patriots ; and, above all, his 
own kinsman, Philibert Berthelier. 

This remarkable man was a typical tribune of the 
people. With them he jested, laughed, caroused, hiding 
his graver thoughts beneath a mask of frivolity. He 

15 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

became their idol ; and he used all the influence thus 
obtained to inspire them with his own love of liberty, 
and to help them to obtain it. Whilst rendering a gay 
and careless homage, that all men saw, at the shrine of 
pleasure, the true devotion of his heart was kept for the 
altar of freedom, upon which he was ready, if need were, 
to offer up his own life also. 

His young and wealthy cousin. Ami, chose to 
burn incense only at the nobler shrine. Early left 
independent by the death of his father, his tastes led 
him to prefer intellectual pursuits to grosser pleasures, 
and to fill his charming country house by the lake 
with scholars and students, rather than with boon 
companions. His mother died in his boyhood, but 
he was much attached to his only sister, ten years his 
junior ; and it was well known that a yet tenderer tie 
would one day unite him with the beautiful Yolande 
L^vrier, niece and ward of the patriot judge. 

All things were going well with him, when suddenly 
the storm broke, and the bolt fell that meant ruin. 
The detested prince-bishop, backed by the sword of 
Savoy and the influence of the Mamelukes (or friends 
of despotism in the town), made himself, in an evil 
hour, master of Geneva. A reign of terror followed, in 
which confiscation, imprisonment, torture, and death 
were the order of the day. Two of the protagonists of 
Genevan liberty, Berthelier and Leviier, died on the 
scaffold, both with undaunted courage, Ldvrier most 
like the devout Christian he seems to have been. The 
third, Bonivard, was thrown into the dungeon which his 
sufferings, and the immortal stanzas of the English 
poet, have made so famous. But there were others 
i6 


The Story of Ami Berthelier 

who bore their share in that great agony, though they 
missed the glory. 

‘They had no bard — and died.* 

Very bitter was the cup borne to the lips of Ami 
Berthelier, well known as the devoted admirer and 
intimate friend of his great kinsman. As even a shred 
of evidence to convict the patriots of anything that 
could be called a crime was hard to find, desperate 
methods were used to obtain it. But neither rack nor 
pulley, neither chains, nor darkness, nor starvation 
could open the locked lips of the faithful disciple ; 
though they broke his strong frame, turned his hair 
white, and added two-score years to his age. When at 
last deliverance came, it found him shattered in mind 
and body, a shadow of his former self. His wealth had 
been seized by the oppressors ; only enough remained 
(husbanded and watched over by secret friends) to 
secure a frugal maintenance for whatever future might 
remain to him. Marguerite, an old servant of the 
family who had been his sister’s nurse, came back to 
him to manage his slender resources, in the modest 
dwelling-place his friends had obtained for him, 
consisting of the HagCy or upper story of a house in 
the Rue Cornavin, of which the lower part was used 
as a store by a dealer in foreign fruits. His sister, 
when the evil days began, had found refuge with the 
nuns of St. Claire, to his great relief. 

He came back like a ghost to the world of living 
men. Little life was left in him, and all there was 
seemed turned to bitterness. It must be a thing most 
terrible to walk in the furnace heated seven times 

17 B 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

without the presence of the Son of God. The marvel 
is that any do it, and survive. But inasmuch as Ami 
Berthelier, for all the anguish, had not sinned against 
his own soul, and betrayed the innocent, we may 
hope that One he saw not nevertheless stood by him 
unknown, nor ever quite forsook him, even when he 
doubted His very existence. Ami Berthelier went into 
his dungeon a careless semi-pagan of the Renaissance, 
with little faith to lose, but he came out of it a 
confirmed unbeliever, ‘having no hope, and without 
God in the world.’ 

A chill, hard despair of himself, of his country, of all 
men, had laid hold upon his soul. Even when the 
Reformation, the true sunrise of modern freedom, of 
which the others were but prophecies and promises, 
rose upon Geneva, he was as one to whom, after long 
agony of separation, his old love comes back again — 
and he does not know her. 

The great ‘Twenty-first of May’* found him cold 
and unmoved. He stood, indeed, in the vast church of 
St. Peter, amongst the throng of citizens who lifted up 
their right hands and swore to be faithful to God and 
to His truth, now revealed to them for the first time 
in His Holy Gospel — but he raised no hand, he spoke 
no vow. The whole transaction was foreign to his 
consciousness, it had for him no meaning and no 
message. 

He did not read the signs of the times. He set 
his face towards the sombre West, whence no light 

* When the Genevans solemnly swore adhesion to the 
principles of the Reformation. 

i8 


The Story of Ami Berthelier 

could come ; and thus, though the East behind him 
was one blaze of sunrise glory, he could not see it. 

The sons of Philibert Berthelier, and others of the 
old Huguenot party who had survived the persecution, 
or returned from their exile, came to visit him. But 
they were to him for the most part vanity and vexation 
of spirit. Some had thrown themselves heartily into 
the new movement ; but others, led by the young 
Bertheliers, had quite as little liking for the Reformers 
as their fathers had for the prince-bishop. They 
reflected the lower, not the higher section of the old 
Huguenots ; and Ami, though he had no objection to 
their irreligion, was revolted by their frivolity, their 
coarseness, and the license both of their speech and 
their practice. 

Still, when in consequence of her acceptance of the 
Reformation there arose around Geneva a host of 
powerful enemies, who threatened her very existence, the 
fire of the old patriotism flamed up amidst its ashes. He, 
who thought that tears were no more for him, felt hot 
drops on the fingers that veiled his eyes from the sight 
of Genevan citizens marshalled to defend their homes, 
when he could not go with them to the fight. He gave 
out of his poverty to the defence, and but for Marguerite, 
would have starved himself to give still more. When 
the patriotic citizens destroyed their own suburbs, 
sacrificing their beautiful country houses and much of 
their wealth, to keep the enemy from finding a foothold 
there, he gladly abandoned his dwelling in the Rue 
Cornavin, which belonged to the suburb of St. Gervais, 
and came to a poor lodging in what was then called La 
Fusterie. In his narrow quarters there he gave shelter, 

19 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

as he told his sister, to a peasant and his wife, who were, 
like many others, left homeless by the destruction of the 
suburbs. 

The peasant was a dull, honest fellow, of the class 
whom the citizens of Geneva contemptuously styled 
‘Grey-feet,* living on and farming his own small plot 
of ground ; the wife was a Savoyard, and far sharper. 
They had with them a babe, assumed to be their own. 
The unwholesome crowding of the town soon brought 
fever, and both the man and the woman took it and 
died. When the woman sickened the babe became 
Marguerite’s care, and to her, when she felt herself 
dying, she confided that the child was not her own, 
but a babe of gentle parentage which she had taken 
to nurse. This information Marguerite duly passed 
on to her master, who, however, scarcely listened to the 
tale, and soon forgot all about it. But he did not refuse 
her earnest request that she might keep the babe and 
nurse it By the time they returned to the Rue Cornavin, 
which happily it had not been necessary to demolish, 
her nursling had become the great joy of her life. 

Time passed on. Soon, all too soon as it seemed, 
there was no longer a babe to nurse, but a dark-eyed, 
dark-haired child-maiden, full of mischief, to guard and 
guide — a little body, all life to the finger-tips, to keep 
from falling into the fire or pulling the stools down 
upon itself, and a little active mind to keep from troubles 
of another kind and to feed in another way. The strange 
thing was, that this perplexing creature made up her 
mind to look for everything to Ami Berthelier himself. 
With the caprice of childhood, she was the tyrant of 
the devoted nurse who toiled for her night and day, and 
20 


The Story of Ami Berthelier 

the adoring slave of the white-haired man who bestowed 
upon her an occasional, parenthetic notice. She watched 
for his look and his smile, employed all her pretty arts 
to attract his attention, and was lifted to the height of 
beatitude by a seat on his knee. 

Berthelier liked it, of course ; a child’s love is the 
sweetest of flatteries, as may be seen from the fact that 
no length of time ever obliterates the remembrance from 
the mind of its object. But as years went by he grew 
unhappy about the little Gabrielle. He knew she ought 
to be taught and trained, but he had not the smallest idea 
how to do it. Nor indeed had Marguerite, who could 
cook and wash with the best, but even with the needle 
her hands were unskilful. As for weightier matters, 
she could not read ; and the kind of religious instruction 
which, as a devoted but not very enlightened follower 
of Calvin, she was disposed to give, did not seem to her 
master exactly food for babes. In all these things his 
own hands were empty of help. ‘Well-born’ maidens, 
he reflected, should be taught to sew, to read, and to 
pray, and of these three desirable accomplishments he 
could impart but one. 

This was how, even to himself, he accounted for his 
appearance that August morning at the gate of the nuns 
of St. Claire. But the great deeps of the human heart 
lie far beneath the tide of consciousness. The touch of 
childish hands had been gradually awakening much 
within him which he thought was dead for ever. 
Longings for the sister he had loved so well began to 
haunt him, growing ever stronger, till they took the 
likeness of those, the strongest of all, which wring our 
hearts for — 


21 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

'The touch of a vanished hand, 

And the sound of a voice that is still/ 

Suddenly he remembered that his sister was not 
dead, that he could yet hear her voice, could yet touch 
her hand. Why, then, not try to do it ? 

His purpose grew and strengthened, and when the 
banishment of the nuns at St. Claire gave it opportunity, 
it bore fruit to action. But would the result; be a 
success ? For a season he was tempted to doubt it. 

By his hearth, as one in a dream, sat a pale, 
bewildered woman, dressed now, not in conventual 
attire, but in the ordinary garb of a Genevan dame, and 
vainly trying to adjust herself to the new conditions, 
and the new conditions to herself, as a child puts 
together a difficult dissected puzzle. 

In appearance she found her nurse far less changed 
than her brother; but the change in old Marguerite’s 
mind was one of the most perplexing of all the 
perplexing elements around her. She prayed, but she 
did not tell her beads like a Christian ; she talked 
of religion, using long words, such as justification, 
regeneration, sanctification, which to her hearer might 
as well, or better, have been Latin, for then she would 
have believed they had a meaning, though she might 
not know what it was. Poor Claudine (no one called 
her Sister Agatha now) was of opinion that the world, 
since she left it, had gone quite mad ! 

Within doors and without, it was much the same. 
The streets were full of unknown perils ; the rough 
market-women with their cries and quarrelling, frightened 
her almost out of her senses; even the oxen being 
driven to the shambles she took at first for wild beasts. 

22 


The Story of Ami Berthelier 

In the house she was scarcely more happy. Her 
brother was kind, and Marguerite duteous, but both 
treated her as the child which in all worldly matters 
she certainly was. Even little Gabrielle ignored her, 
after the unflattering custom of her kind towards a 
‘ grown-up ’ who is neither loved nor necessary. She 
sighed in secret for the convent. She even began 
to call herself an apostate, and to think she had 
committed the unpardonable sin. 

Deliverance came to her ; and through nothing 
greater than the torn garment of a child. One day 
Gabrielle ran to her in great distress with her holiday 
dress, a gay little petticoat of Lyons silk, torn down 
almost from waist to hem. She had been playing, she 
explained, with the bookbinder’s little boys next door, 
and Jeannot did it. 

‘ The naughty varlet ! ’ said Claudine. ‘ But why 
dost thou play with those ill lads, Gabrielle ^ It is not 
seemly for a little maid.’ 

Gabrielle pouted. ‘Father lets me,’ she said, and 
ran away, calling Marguerite. 

At Claudine’s heart tugged the demon of jealousy. 
She fetched hastily a simpler dress for the child, and 
pursued her to the kitchen, where she found her 
climbing up on the table, to sit there and wait for 
Marguerite, who, as Claudine’s good star ordained, was 
just then at the market. 

‘ Let me put this on thee,’ she said, ‘ and see, 
Gabrielle, I will mend thy blue silk, before father 
comes home to take thee for that walk on the Molard 
he promised this morning.’ 

A little more coaxing and the blue silk was safe in 

23 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

her hands. The rent was a bad one ; but under the 
skilful hand of the convent-taught needlewoman it was 
neatly and quickly repaired. Claudine, as she worked, 
could not help seeing that the garment was ill-made 
and ill-fitting. * I would alter it so, and so/ she thought, 

* and I would embroider the hem with that pretty stitch 
Sister Ursula taught me.’ 

As she planned. Marguerite came in, and looked with 
interested eyes. Presently she went into another room, 
returning with a great armful of little hoods, kirtles, 
bodices, tippets, and what not. 

‘To tell you the truth, damoiselle/ she said, ‘ through 
these clothes of the little one the devil has had much 
advantage over me.’ 

‘ I no way misdoubt of it,’ returned Claudine, with 
unusual energy ; ‘ though I think he makes much more 
use of Master Calvin’s heresies than of the petticoats of 
an innocent child.’ 

‘ I will not dispute with you, my damoiselle, seeing 
you are still, as one may say, in the gall of bitterness 
and in the bond of iniquity ; but, all the same, that poor 
innocent’s green hood and blue kirtle agree no better 
than the Mamelukes and Huguenots used to do before 
the Gospel came to us — and she as proud of them all 
the time as a peacock of its tail or a papistical bishop 
of his crozier.’ 

‘ Well, let us see what can be done,’ said Claudine, 
diplomatically ignoring Marguerite’s offensive allusions. 

‘See then, my damoiselle, here is this bit of purple 
gros-grain Madame de Maisonneuve gave the master, 
wherewith to make for her a little coat for Sundays and 
holidays. ’Tis a beauty, is it not ? She will like to see 
24 


The Story of Ami Berthelier 

it on her ; but I could never make my mind up to cut 
it, since, if scissors go wrong, ’tis a sin with no place of 
repentance.’ 

Thus Claudine, the skilled needlewoman, found her 
vocation, and was troubled with no more fears about the 
unpardonable sin. Still she continued, in the Protestant 
city, at heart a devout Catholic. With all the strength 
of her nature (not great at the best), she longed for 
the Sacraments of her Church, especially for the Mass, 
at that time interdicted there. Once or twice she 
received religious consolations from a priest in disguise, 
whom her brother found out accidentally, and in his 
good-natured indifference invited to visit her. With 
Berthelier’s consent she taught Gabrielle her own 
prayers and the elements of her own creed ; to the 
infinite disgust of Marguerite, who did all in her power 
to counteract the mischief, taking the child, whenever 
she could, to St. Peter’s to hear Master Calvin, and 
trying to impress his doctrines on her young mind. Out- 
side of both himself, Berthelier looked on with quiet 
amusement at the battle of the Creeds. He knew 
that anything like an open adherence to Catholicism 
would expose Gabrielle, when she grew up, to very 
great practical inconveniences, if she remained in 
Geneva ; but he never doubted that his sister’s pretty 
superstitions, as he thought them, would drop off from 
her when she came to years of discretion, and that she 
would think and believe like every one about her. 
Meanwhile, he did not care who won the victory ; not 
realizing that in such battles it is apt to go hard with 
the young souls that are fought for, and for whom 
evei) ching is so real, so earnest 

25 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

As for Gabrielle, to whose childish mind the 
preaching at St. Peter’s did not appeal, she inclined 
at first to the teaching of ‘Tante Claudine,’ as she 
learned to call her. She became very fond of the 
gentle, kindly woman ; although from first to last 
‘ Father ’ reigned in her heart without a rival. 

In the larger world without, as in the young heart 
of Gabrielle, rival forces were fighting for the victory. 
It is true that, to our modern thinking, that world itself 
was a microcosm. The Czar Paul, the ruler of fifty 
millions, contemptuously styled a civil conflict in Geneva 
‘ a tempest in a tumbler of water ; ’ and the yet more 
scornful Voltaire averred that whenever he dressed his 
perruque he powdered the whole Republic. Yet the 
little State was destined to illustrate in her own history 
that doctrine of theology which her greatest divine so 
definitely formulated, that (although by no means 
peculiar to him, nor held more strongly by him than by 
many others) it has gone thenceforward by his name. 
Because the sublime and simple thought * elect,’ — chosen 
of God, has been hardened into dogma, compressed 
into the bounds of system, and sometimes even 
distorted into absolute falsehood, it is not therefore the 
less grand or the less true. The brave little city by the 
lake was as really ‘ elect ’ — or chosen — of God as the 
Zion of old in which He put His Name. She was chosen 
to receive His Word, and to show to all the world 
the spectacle of a community honestly endeavouring 
to obey it. She was chosen to be a city of refuge for 
His persecuted servants throughout all Christendom, 
who thronged to her gates as to a very haven of rest, 
where they might dwell safely, and fear no evil. ‘ Let 
26 


The Story of Ami Berthelier 

Mine outcasts dwell with thee,’ was God’s special charge 
to Geneva ; and she heard and obeyed. 

It needed deep religious conviction, as well as heroic 
courage, for the little State to brave the anger of her 
powerful neighbours by receiving and sheltering these 
refugees. Moreover, not without much personal self- 
denial, on the part of her citizens, could so great 
a concourse of strangers be maintained. Yet the 
kindness was amply repaid ; Geneva found it indeed 
more blessed to give than to receive. Not merely 
because the ‘ gentle and honest strangers ’ contributed 
to her population a most valuable element, greatly 
increasing her moral and intellectual strength, but also 
because, through her sacrifices for them, she was saved 
from the dangers of a morbid austerity and asceticism. 
Her earnest spirits shared with their contemporaries 
the tendency to look on the darker and sterner side of 
religion and of life, and the powerful genius of the 
man who inspired and dominated them tended also in 
the same direction. But practical benevolence has a 
broadening influence on character. Fasting for its own 
sake may tend to narrowness ; but fasting to feed the 
hungry enlarges the heart, and heart and mind are 
interdependent. This work of ministry for God’s 
outcasts lent the stern regime of Calvinistic Geneva 
a grace and a glory it would otherwise have lacked. 
Perhaps it could not save it wholly from the hardness 
of fanaticism, but it certainly redeemed it from its 
selfishness. 

But before the little city could accept and fulfil 
her mission, she had to be trained and educated, and 
purged from the elements irreconcilable with it. These 

27 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

were twofold. The worst foes of true order and of 
true liberty (which in their essence are but one), are 
a false order, which is slavery, and a false freedom, 
which is license. In throwing off the yoke of Rome, 
Geneva had emancipated herself from the first ; she 
had still before her a long and bitter struggle with 
the second, represented by the party known in history 
as the Libertines. 

But the final act of this drama did not take place 
for years after the events which made the little 
Gabrielle and the nun of St Claire joint inmates of 
the house of Ami Berthelier. 


28 






THANK GOD ! ’ HE SAID WITH EMOTION 
‘HIS FREE CITY!’ 


CHAPTER III 

*THE GREAT WHITE THRONE* 

‘Who so in one thing hath been true, 

Can be as true in all.’ 

Sewell. 

Y ears came and went. Again it was an August 
morning in Geneva, only fairer than that which 
witnessed long ago the departure of the nuns 
of St. Claire. The gate of Cornavin had just been 
opened to admit the vendors of milk, fruit, and 
vegetables, who were bringing their wares to the 
early market. Walking behind a cart full of country 
produce, as if in charge of it, there slipped in unnoticed 
two who had nothing to sell, a tall man in a blouse, 
and a dark-haired boy who might have been fourteen, 
but if so, was small and childish-looking for his years. 
These two soon stepped aside from the throng, and 
drew unobserved into the shadow of a house. Then, 
with a sudden impulse, the older traveller knelt down 
and pressed his lips upon the rough, uneven ground. 

‘Thank God ! * he said with emotion. ‘ His free city I 
This blessed Genevan soil ! * There were tears on his 
strong face when he rose again. 

‘ Father I * cried the boy. ‘ Look, father, look I 
29 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

Yonder is the Throne of God, the Great White 
Throne ! ’ 

For the monarch of mountains rose above them, 
distant yet plainly visible in the pure clear air — not 
flushed in a sunrise glow, but white and stainless, in its 
awful majesty, like the everlasting righteousness of God. 

Germain de Caulaincourt raised his tear-dimmed 
eyes. 

‘That is Mont Blanc, a very great mountain,* he 
answered indifferently. 

Sixteenth-century souls did not often thrill to the 
touch of Nature’s sublimities, though many of them 
quite appreciated her gentler charms. But no doubt 
there were exceptions, and the look in Norbert de 
Caulaincourt’s young eyes as he gazed was enough 
to rank him amongst them. He had large dark eyes 
and a beautiful face, of a soft, girlish type. 

His father laid his hand kindly on his shoulder. 
‘You must be very tired,’ he said, ‘and very hungry.’ 

‘So are you, father,’ young Norbert answered 
brightly, though without withdrawing his gaze from 
the white wonder in the sky. 

‘ I know not what to do, till it is later, and we can 
go before the syndics,’ pursued De Caulaincourt. 

‘ An inn ? ’ suggested Norbert, still looking up. 

Germain shook his head. ‘ Inns have scant welcome 
for penniless visitors,’ he said. 

As he spoke a door was opened on the other side 
of the street, and a white-haired man came forth slowly, 
for he was lame. He looked for a moment at the two 
strangers, turned away, took a few steps down the 
street, turned back, and looked again, as one irresolute. 

.30 


‘The Great White Throne’ 


The strangers removed their peasants’ caps, and 
saluted — not with the air of peasants. Ami Berthelier 
responded, and by a common impulse they drew nearer. 
He spoke first, * I think, monsieur, you are strangers 
here ? ’ 

‘ We are, monsieur. We come from France, exiles 
for the Gospel’s sake.’ 

* How have you contrived it ? ’ 

‘ By long wanderings over the mountains, hiding 
in peasants’ huts, and journeying mostly in the night 
time. I brought with me from home a little money 
and a few jewels — just what I could conceal about my 
person ; but on the hills we were set upon by brigands, 
and robbed of everything — indeed, we were glad to 
escape with life. Last night we walked from a little 
mountain hamlet — I do not know its name. And this 
morning we hung about the gate till it was opened for 
the market-people, and came in with them.’ 

‘ Strangers who seek refuge with us go to the Town 
Hall, and tell their case to the magistrates.’ 

‘I know it. And I pray you, tell me of your 
kindness where to find the Town Hall.’ 

‘Nay, monsieur, not yet. Their worships do not 
sit until after service, which is at six o’clock. Rather 
come in first with me and break your fast’ 

‘ But you were going forth. I shall disarrange you.’ 

‘Not at all. I am of Geneva, you are of the Faith. 
That is enough. Do me the honour to come in.’ 

They were soon in Berthelier’s living room, where 
a plainly-dressed woman, with a sweet, rather sad face, 
was introduced to them by their host, who had already 
learned their names, as his sister, Claudine Berthelier, 

31 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

She responded courteously, if not cordially, and 
went out to hasten the breakfast. 

Soup was in Geneva the universal morning meal ; 
but, in consideration for the hunger of his guests, 
Berthelier whispered a word to Claudine, and presently 
the old servant. Marguerite, brought in a dish of cold 
salted beef, which with soup, bread, and a pitcher of 
light sour wine completed the preparations. The table 
was well polished and spotlessly clean, but table-cloths 
were not then in use, and a piece of bread scooped out 
was the only salt-cellar. 

‘ Where is Gabrielle ? ’ asked Berthelier as his sister 
entered. He had scarcely finished speaking, when a 
lovely girl, half child half maiden, came in ; her very 
plain bodice and petticoat of grey serge could not hide 
the graceful lines of her figure, while her flower-like face 
looked all the fairer for the contrast. She was followed 
by the old servant, who brought with her, after the 
custom of her class, her own pewter plate, and set it 
down modestly at the end of the table. 

All gathered round the board — Berthelier at the 
head, the two Caulaincourts at one side, and Claudine 
and Gabrielle at the other. The strangers stood, ex- 
pecting a lengthy grace. But to their surprise Berthelier 
only murmured, ‘ May God bless our food,* and began 
to carve the salt beef, as welcome to his hungry guests 
as the daintiest fare. 

‘ Is it true, monsieur,’ he asked presently, ‘ that King 
Henry has issued a new persecuting edict? ’ 

‘Too true, monsieur; though indeed he need not 
have taken the trouble, since under the old one fires 
were already blazing throughout the kingdom.’ The 

32 


‘ The Great White Throne 


exile proceeded to give examples and details, which 
culminated in horrors that would have effectually 
destroyed the appetites of a modern breakfast-party. 
Here the only one through whom they sent a shiver 
of positive pain was Claudine ; for Berthelier already 
knew all, and Marguerite thought only of the glories 
and rewards of martyrdom. As for young Norbert, 
his eyes and thoughts were dwelling with a kind of 
fascination on his opposite neighbour. Gabrielle was 
scarcely older than himself, yet to the boy she seemed 
a ‘maiden fair* whom any knight might be proud to 
fight for or to serve. But why was she not dressed 
like his sisters .? Why did they cover her all up with 
that horrid grey thing ? Still, what eyes, what a mouth, 
what lips ! How grave she looked, how quiet ! He 
wished that she would speak, or at least smile. By 
way of an overture he essayed to pour out some wine 
for her; whereupon she thanked him (in the sweetest 
of voices), but said she only drank water ; at which he 
did not greatly wonder, in view of the quality of the 
wine. 

At length every one had finished. ‘ Grace after 
meat,’ was said very briefly ; then the old servant 
beckoned to the boy. ‘Young sir,’ she said, ‘the bell 
is ringing for morning prayers. Will you come with 
me and worship God ? ’ 

Norbert looked at his father, who, however, was so 
deep in talk with Berthelier that he was obliged to 
speak to him. ‘ Will you go, father ? ’ he asked. 

‘ Go thou, my son ; I go not this time,’ Caulaincourt 
answered, and continued his discourse. 

So Norbert and Marguerite went to church, and 

33 c 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

Claudine and Gabrielle into another room. Berthelier 
and his guest remained standing at the window, and 
looking out upon the street, now filling rapidly with 
men and women on their way to the morning service 
at the neighbouring church of St. Gervais ; the men 
in gowns or doublets of frieze, save a very few, who 
wore broadcloth, being in office or members of the 
council, while the women wore frieze skirts and bodices 
with close-fitting hoods. As the materials were plain, 
the colours also were sober ; scarce a bright hue was 
to be seen, far as the eye could follow * the long unlovely 
street.' 

‘ Master Berthelier/ asked the Frenchman suddenly, 
‘ what do men find to do, who come here penniless as I? ’ 

‘That depends, monsieur. You are a gentleman 
of France ? ' 

Caulaincourt bowed his head, and Berthelier’s look 
said, ‘ I thought so.' 

‘Almost,’ said Caulaincourt, ‘could I wish myself 
an honest silk-weaver, or a mason or carpenter, so that 
my boy and I might not be a burden to strangers.’ 

‘ There are no strangers here, for you. To a Genevan 
every Protestant is a brother.’ 

‘Yet no man wants to cling helplessly about his 
brother’s neck. It is written, “Bear ye one another’s 
burdens,” but also, in the same place, “ Every one must 
bear his own burden.” How can I bear mine, and the 
boy’s ? ’ 

‘ No difficulty about the boy. When the syndics 
have seen you and heard your story, some citizen will 
offer to take you both into his house. Then your son 

will go to school. And you ’ he paused. 

34 


‘ The Great White Throne ’ 


‘And I?’ 

* Can do what you like, within the limits of the law, 
which here, I own, are somewhat strict Still, I suppose 
you will not want to play games of hazard, or to dance 
or sing profane songs on the Sabbath day ? * 

‘Why, no,* Caulaincourt returned, smiling. ‘Yet 
that which I want to do, my countrymen would think 
more disgraceful than all these together. For I would 
fain learn and practise any honest craft which would 
keep me from adding to the burdens, already so great, 
of our generous hosts.’ 

‘ But that would be hard for you. A gentleman ’ 

‘ Should not be a beggar, nor a thief.’ After a pause 
he added, ‘In my journeyings I thought of printing. 
It seems to require less than most other crafts that 
bodily labour to which I am unused. And I have 
always loved books.’ 

‘ So much,’ said Berthelier, ‘ I have guessed already.’ 
He had not * talked so long with his guest without 
discovering in him a man of intelligence and education. 
‘ Still, I doubt that hands will take kindly to the 
compositor’s stick which have been used, or I mistake, 
to handle the sword.’ 

‘I have served the king, and in more realms than 
one,’ De Caulaincourt said modestly. ‘But since I 
received — through Christ’s honoured martyr, the 
Councillor Du Bourg — the knowledge of His truth, 
I have lived in retirement on my own estate, which is 
that called Gourgolles, in Dauphiny — as I told you, 
did I not ? ’ 

‘ I suppose even there you found you were safe no 
longer ? ’ 


35 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

Caulaincourt assented. ‘It cost me much to go/ 
he added sadly. ‘ And much that is very dear to me 
is left behind. Two little maids and two boys, one of 
them a babe. Thank God, I kissed them as they slept. 
And their mother, dearest of all. But she knew, and 
forgave me/ 

‘ For taking her son ? * 

‘ She is not Norbert’s mother, though he is dear to 
her almost as her own little ones. I was slow to believe 
in the danger, and I shrank from the sacrifice. I hoped 
times might change, and I hoped also that I might be 
able to instruct my wife and children in the things that 
accompany salvation. But the hearts of women cling 
so to the old, the well known.’ 

‘Of that,’ said Berthelier, ‘I have a proof. My 
sister, who was once a nun of St. Claire, remains, even 
in this stronghold of the Religion, a Catholic at heart’ 

‘ And my children/ Caulaincourt went on — ‘ children 
care for naught but play and merriment.’ 

‘ Not here/ said Berthelier, smiling. ‘ Here the very 
children burn to go as missionaries to France, or 
Italy, or the Low Countries, and to win the crown of 
martyrdom.’ 

‘Then I fear my Norbert will scarce find comrades 
here to his liking. He is a strange boy ; very childish 
in some ways, yet by flashes unexpectedly manly. It used 
to grieve me that the boy who was all mine seemed 
the least disposed of all to share my thoughts. He 
preferred playing squire of dames to his step-mother, 
or sharing the sports of his little sisters, to attending 
to his studies or listening to the Word of God. And 
yet that child, for he is no more, hastened home alone 
36 


‘ The Great White Throne 


from a masquerade in the neighbouring town, and 
sought me in my study. I was ill-pleased with him, 
for he had gone there with his step-mother against my 
will. But when I heard his story, I saw the hand of 
God’s providence. He had overheard a whisper between 
the mayor, at whose house the entertainment was, and 
a captain of the king’s cuirassiers stationed in the 
town, about their plan for the arrest of the heretic lord 
of Gourgolles the next day. And he came to warn me. 
Then, at my desire, the brave boy hurried back to the 
town, alone and in the dark, two long leagues, to fetch 
my wife, whilst I made such scanty preparations as I 
could. Thanks to Norbert’s good running, she arrived 
in time to receive my directions about our children 
and the estate. As I have said, she forgave me. We 
parted in peace. At the time I scarcely felt anything. 
My heart seemed dead within me, like a stone. Only 
I was conscious of a pang, and a keen one, when I gave 
Norbert also the farewell kiss, and he did not cling to 
me, nor seem as if it hurt him to part. 

* So I took my solitary way down the hill. I was 
walking on doggedly in dull heaviness of spirit, when 
I heard quick footsteps behind. “ I am betrayed,” I 
thought, and did not greatly care — for what had I to 
live for ? I turned. It was the dark before the dawn, 
but I could see the figure of a boy, who ran after me, 
panting, breathless. Next moment Norbert’s hand was 
on my cloak, his voice in my ear. 

‘ “ Father, stay for me ! ” 

Youf'" I said. 

‘ “ Why did you bid me good-bye ? ” he panted, 
•‘when you knew ” 


37 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

* Knew what ? ” said I. 

* “ Knew I was yours.” As soon as he found his 
breath he added, “ I have learned one verse out of 
your Bible — ‘Thy people shall be my people, and 
thy God my God.’ ” Monsieur Berthelier, what I did 
then, it shames my manhood to tell of now. I had 
not wept at the parting — but the deeps were broken 
then.’ 

‘I understand,’ said Berthelier. ‘When I was in 
prison, if I could have wept, I might not have lost faith 
in God and man.’ 

‘ Ah, you too have suffered ? ' said the Frenchman, 
with interest. 

‘ Not as you. Go on, I pray of you.’ 

‘ It would but be tedious to tell of our wanderings, 
our dangers, our escapes. And, indeed, I care not 
greatly to look back upon those days of hardship 
and peril, which grew to weeks. In God’s mercy 
we are here, and safe. A word that sounds strange 
on the lips of a Protestant For the boy’s sake I am 
glad.’ 

‘You are as safe,* said Berthelier, ‘as the ramparts 
of Geneva and the hearts and hands of her citizens can 
make you. If only,’ he added, ‘ Geneva were at one 
within herself.’ 

Caulaincourt looked surprised. ‘Are there then 
dissensions among you ? * he asked. 

‘ There are ; and I, with the luck of all my life, am 
on the wrong side, or rather, I should say, on no side 
at all.’ 

‘You speak in riddles, monsieur.’ 

‘Did you know that, ere your new faith reached 

38 


‘ The Great White Throne 


US, we Genevans had a hard fight for our ancient 
liberties ? * 

‘ Wherefore do you say your faith, as though it were 
not also yours ? Surely you are no Catholic/ 

‘ I am a Huguenot/ 

‘Then — a brother/ 

‘Not in your sense. With us a Huguenot formerly 
meant one who loved our ancient liberties, and leagued 
himself with our friends of Fribourg to maintain them. 
But now, instead, the children of the champions of 
liberty in Geneva are called Libertines.* 

‘ Methinks the old name was better/ 

‘ And they were better men who bore it/ 

‘But what should your Libertines, or Huguenots, do 
now? The truth, which you have received, has made 
you free, and thus done all, and more than all, they 
wanted/ 

‘All their fathers wanted, perhaps. Yet I scarce 
think even that. Master Calvin and the Consistory tie 
men’s consciences too tight, to my thinking.’ 

‘Men cannot be tied too tight from sin, or from 
error.’ 

‘ That depends. The Libertines, at all events, like 
the new state of things even less than their fathers 
did the old. In this I think them both right and 
wrong.’ 

‘How can that be? You cannot walk to the right 
and the left at the same moment, nor be at once in 
light and in darkness.’ 

‘ Is one ever either wholly right or wholly wrong ? ’ 
asked Berthelier, with a slight shrug of his shoulders. 
‘Who knows? Certainly not the man who walks. — 
39 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

These Libertines of ours claim the liberty to live as 
they list’ 

‘ Making liberty a cloak for licentiousness,’ De 
Caulaincourt threw in. 

‘True; but is what I have under my cloak the 
business of other men ? Methinks if Master Calvin 
and the Consistory were well advised, they would let 
men go their own way — within reasonable limits, and 
avoiding open scandals — and not insist upon every one’s 
living like St Antony, or like Noah, Daniel, and Job, 
as the Bible hath it But they must needs have all 
cut out after their own pattern, which may be pure 
and lofty, but it does not suit every one. Let the 
Church keep her province, and the world hers, say 1. 
But my kinsmen say, “Very well, then. In revenge 
for the irritating supervision you Churchmen persist 
in keeping upon us, we claim Church privileges. If 
we do not belong to you, let us alone ; if we do, then 
make us free to everything you can give.” So they 
insist, while they keep their vices, upon going to the 
Holy Supper. The Council of Twenty-five, which we 
call the Little Council, and which is part with Master 
Calvin and part with them, has given an ambiguous 
decision, but the ministers (and here I think them right 
enough) protest against what they call a profanation. 
So things are at present.’ 

‘And I perceive that Geneva is not, just yet, a 
heaven upon earth,’ said De Caulaincourt 

‘Nor ever will be,’ acquiesced Berthelier, with a 
bitter smile. ‘ But I think it is now time to present 
yourself at the Town Hall. With your good leave I 
will walk with you to the door, but my escort further 

40 


‘ The Great White Throne ’ 


would not be helpful, as I am rather in ill odour with 
their worships. Both on my own account and my 
sister’s I am under censure, and have been fined once 
and again for our non-attendance at church, and other 
sundry misdemeanours.* 


41 


CHAPTER IV 

FRENCH EXILES AND GENEVAN LIBERTINES 

^One still strong man in a blatant land.’ 

O N the next Sunday morning, which was the first 
in September, the great bell ‘ Cldmence ’ was 
tolling forth its summons to the early service in 
the cathedral church of St. Peter. It was to be, on 
this occasion, the most solemn and sacred service of 
the Christian Church — the administration of the Holy 
Supper. All the streets leading to the cathedral were 
thronged with worshippers, or at least with those who 
were seeking the house of prayer. Upon this special 
day — a day to be much remembered in Geneva — these 
crowds presented a more gay and varied appearance 
than they were wont to do. There were plenty of sober 
citizens in dark garments of serge or cloth, bare-headed 
apprentice lads, boys in blouses, and servant girls with 
‘ half-girdles * of silver, horned head-dresses well starched, 
and stout leather shoes. But there were others of a 
very different kind, few in comparison, yet abundantly 
conspicuous in their pomp and glory of apparel, their 
velvet mantles and plumed bonnets, and the swords that 
hung by their sides. Some were escorting dames whose 
silks and laces glared defiance to the sumptuary laws of 

42 


French Exiles and Genevan Libertines 


the city. As they passed along, many a face frowned 
darkly upon them, and many a voice was heard to 
murmur, perhaps in the solemn words of Scripture, 
unflattering forecasts of the doom awaiting ‘godless 
libertines* in the next world. There were allusions to 
‘the bravery of tinkling ornaments,’ to ‘cauls’ and 
‘round tires like the moon,* which if not particularly 
apposite, at least relieved the minds of the speakers. 
At all events, the compliments were repaid with interest ; 
gibes and jeers, scornful glances and flouting words 
being lavished by the Libertines upon the ‘ regenerate,’ 
the ‘ mortified,' the ‘ saints.* 

One boyish face, however, looked upon them kindly, 
one young heart rejoiced in the bravery of their apparel, 
and the stir and brightness they brought into the 
gloomy streets. Norbert de Caulaincourt had been 
only six days in the town, yet already he had come to 
the conclusion that the lines had fallen unto him in very 
unpleasant places. Not that he repented casting in his 
lot with his father — not that he would utter, to him, one 
word of complaint — no, wild horses should not drag it 
from him ! But, to begin the tale of his sorrows, the 
bookbinder. Master Antoine Calvin, who lived in the 
Rue Cornavin, next door to the Bertheliers, had opened 
his house to them, offering them bread and shelter in 
God’s name. Very good of the bookbinder, no doubt ; 
Norbert thought vaguely that he must be ‘making 
merit ’ thereby, and expecting some reward in the next 
world. But for him, Norbert de Caulaincourt, and for 
his father — a gentleman of France, a prince amongst 
these bourgeois, this canaille — to sit at meat with the 
tradesman, his wife and his sons, the elder working 
43 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

at their father’s ‘caitiff’ trade, seemed a hardship and a 
degradation. It is true the refugees were treated as 
honoured guests ; the boys of the family helped the 
apprentice to serve, and used towards their young 
French ‘ companion ’ a courtesy slightly tinged with 
awe, but this scarcely softened his scorn. 

Moreover, he had begun to go to school, and the 
sentiment with which his masters and his schoolfellows 
inspired him, though far removed from scorn, was 
scarcely less unpleasant. He could not deny that these 
petits bourgeois of his own age and younger, knew a 
great deal more of their ‘ humanities ’ than he did. But 
that was like to be remedied soon enough, though with 
no choice of his own. At first he tried upon his 
teachers, whom he regarded as greatly his inferiors, the 
carelessness just touched with insolence that had served 
his purpose with some of his previous instructors. But 
he learned very quickly that he must alter his bearing, 
if he wished to avoid the intolerable indignity of 
receiving public chastisement the next Saturday 
afternoon. 

‘ But I am a noble of France,’ said he to the kindly 
lad who warned him, an exile like himself. 

‘So am I,’ returned Louis de Marsac ; ‘but if we 
were both sons of France — the children of the king — it 
would make no difference.’ 

Therefore, that Sunday morning, as he walked to 
church by his father’s side, his young soul was bitter 
within him. He felt like a bird in a cage too small for 
it, and a very ugly cage moreover. Even the sight of 
Master Berthelier passing by with his pretty daughter 
(as he supposed her), holding his hand, and Marguerite 
44 


French Exiles and Genevan Libertines 


following them in her Sunday best, scarcely proved 
consolatory, though he capped to them duly. ‘ It is all 
so triste here,’ he said to himself, with a sigh he could 
not repress. 

‘ What is it, my son ? * De Caulaincourt asked, coming 
down with difficulty from the solemn rapture with which 
be was anticipating the Holy Feast, to him so rare a 
privilege, and one only enjoyed hitherto at the risk of 
his life. 

‘ Nothing, father — but, oh, look ! Yonder goes a 
brave gentleman, apparelled like those at home and 
Norbert bestowed upon the handsome young Libertine, 
who swaggered by them in silk and velvet, the most 
friendly glance the poor gentleman had been favoured 
with that day. 

At last he stood with his father in the great cathedral 
church. They were early, yet already it seemed nearly 
full. The congregation looked uneasy, restless, as if 
expecting or foreboding something. Norbert had scant 
respect for the mixed crowd of citizens about him, and 
presently relieved his mind by giving a shrewd thrust in 
the ribs to a stalwart apprentice who, he thought, was 
jostling his father unnecessarily. The youth might 
have returned the compliment had not a man beside 
them stretched out a warning hand. 

‘ Remember,’ he said, ‘ this is the house of God.’ 

‘Who could have thought it?’ retorted Norbert, 
looking round contemptuously on the plain interior, 
stripped of everything savouring of Romish superstition. 
^ Ma foil if these be Genevan courtesies ’ 

His unfinished sentence was smothered in the cloak 
of a stout old woman, who came violently against him. 
45 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

And now every one about him was pushing or being 
pushed, jostling his neighbour, or trying to give way 
to him when there was no way to give. ‘So this is 
the house of God ! ’ thought Norbert — ‘ something 
extraordinary must be happening, though.’ 

Next, he recognized in the press one of the fine 
gentlemen in gay apparel. Some gold lace on his velvet ^ 
cloak caught in the buckle of the apprentice’s leather 
belt, and the lad roughly pulled himself loose, tearing the 
costly garment. The gentleman pushed on unheeding, 
but a bystander said quite loud, ‘ Stand close, friends ! 
Keep them out!’ No blow was struck, no hand was 
raised, but the people closed in firmly and stood still — a 
solid wall of human flesh and muscle, resisting what 
seemed to be a forcible intrusion. 

Norbert’s blood boiled. All his sympathy was with 
the intruders. What right had any one to keep them 
out — if they were such fools as to want to come in ? If 
fine gentlemen chose to go to church — and such a church 
too — whose business was it but their own ? Finding 
himself close to the velvet cloak, he joined himself to 
its wearer, and pushed right heartily with him. 

He soon saw there were many gentlemen, and they 
were gaining their point and forcing their way up the 
church in a solid body, in spite of silent, determined 
opposition. He had quite lost sight of his father, so he 
went on with the rest, who came to a stand — it cannot 
be called a standstill — when they succeeded at last in 
placing themselves conspicuously in front of what he 
called the * altar.’ 

But was it an altar? All Norbert’s wondering 
eyes could see was a fair, white linen cloth, covering 
46 


French Exiles and Genevan Libertines 


something, he knew not what. He had never witnessed 
an administration of the Lord’s Supper amongst the 
Reformed. The very strangeness and simplicity of the 
thing gave him a faint, far-away touch of awe, presently 
dispelled by the muttered remark of a Libertine near 
him, ‘ I think we have conquered the saints this time.’ 

* They are at the foot of the wall without a ladder,’ 
said another, more loudly. 

‘ Hush ! ’ interposed a third. * If we have the best of 
it, let us play fair, and give the black coats a hearing.’ 

Then Norbert became aware that the service was 
proceeding. A minister was droning something from a 
desk, whether reading, prayer, or exhortation, he neither 
knew nor cared. Only it was interminably long. But 
what followed aroused even him. A psalm of Clement 
Marot’s, sung by the great congregation, made the old 
church ring again. Norbert joined ; he knew these 
psalms, which were often sung in France, even by 
Catholics. Then came more reading and praying, 
quite incomprehensible to one who did not care to 
comprehend ; then another psalm, during which a 
dark-robed, slender figure entered the pulpit. ‘ It is 
Master John Calvin !’ said Norbert to himself. ‘The 
brother of our host, good Master Bookbinder I And not 
so well-favoured. Just a dark man, thin and pale, with 
a meagre, wasted visage, black hair, pointed beard, long 
nose, and eyes that go through you like a sword.’ 

The congregation, as one man, disposed itself to 
listen. Even the Libertines, after a buzz like that of a 
swarm of flies disturbed at a feast, fell into a sort of 
protesting stillness, as if forced to hear what they hated. 
The spell was upon Norbert too; he had to hear. 
47 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

Those cold, clear, unimpassioned words came from a 
depth of conviction, from a depth of feeling even, deeper 
than the founts of passion. So steel is cold, but the 
utmost heat of the furnace has gone to the making of 
it. Each word was the fittest for the purpose the 
language could supply, and set in its place like a stone 
in a mosaic. Norbert, without knowing this, felt its 
power. Caring nothing for the subject, which was the 
right reception of the Lord’s Supper, and telling himself 
it did not concern him in the least, still he could not 
withdraw his attention. 

He tried to shake off the impression, and to think 
of other things. He tried to look about him. Which 
of those finely-dressed gentlemen might be Master 
Philibert Berthelier, the leader of the Libertines, and 
the kinsman of their next-door neighbour, the lame 
man with the pretty daughter? * Sucre I How angry 
they all look, and how determined ! See them clapping 
their hands on their swords ! If ’twere not a church, 
there would be hot work here. Ay, and perhaps there 
will, for one can scarce call this a church.’ 

Here the forceful voice caught him again, and held 
him in a giant’s grasp. It was calm, rather low 
even, yet it filled every inch of the great building. 

‘ I will guide myself by my Master’s rule,’ said John 
Calvin, ‘ which to me is clear and well known. As we 
are now about to receive the Holy Supper of our Lord, 
if any one who has been debarred by the Consistory 
shall approach this table, though it cost my life, I will 
show myself such as I ought to be.’ 

Words of solemn prayer followed. Then the preacher 
calmly descended the pulpit stairs, came forward, and 

48 


French Exiles and Genevan Libertines 


took his stand at the Table of the Lord. Reverently 
he lifted up the white napkin and uncovered the bread 
and wine ; a strange sight to Norbcrt, accustomed to 
receive a wafer and adore a chalice he never dreamed 
of tasting. With deep solemnity Calvin blessed the 
elements, then stood calmly waiting. 

There was a sudden sound, a clash, a tramp of feet. 
The armed Libertines strode forward, each right hand 
extended to take the bread, each left hand resting on 
the sword. 

‘ They have it ! ’ Norbert had almost said. But he 
choked back the word, awe-struck. Over the bread and 
wine two hands were stretched — defending hands — 
frail and weak as a sick woman’s or a dying child’s. 
But there was no weakness in the voice that rang 
through the crowded church : ‘ These hands you may 
crush, these arms you may sever, this life you may 
take, but you shall never force me to give holy 
things to the unholy, and dishonour the Table of my 
Lord ! ’ 

Profound and awful was the silence that fell upon 
the angry crowd. Norbert held his breath as he 
watched, fascinated, the lowering faces of the Libertines. 
Their right hands fell, they glanced doubtfully at each 
other. At last, to his astonishment, and probably to 
\ heir own also, those strong men armed turned silently 
away, and walked slowly down the church. Quietly 
the people made way for them. They were gone. 

Then, as if nothing had happened, Master Calvin 
prayed, followed by another minister ; and afterwards 
the people came up reverently, and each, standing in 
his place, ate a morsel of bread and drank a little wine, 
49 ^ 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

That was all Norbert saw ; but he felt something 
there which he saw not — the presence and the power 
of God. 

Later, father and son stood together in their 
sleeping-room, their only place for private converse 
within doors. De Caulaincourt looked anxious. 

‘ I am grieved for thee, my son,’ he said. 

‘Why so, father?’ Norbert asked, looking up from 
the boot he was unlacing. 

‘Thou knowest that at Gourgolles I never laid my 
commands upon thee. I let thee worship with thy 
step-mother. But here it is different. Thou hast said, 
“Thy God shall be my God.”’ 

‘I hold to that, father, because I hold to thee. 
Though I confess I like the old ways better.’ 

‘ I would have thee love this way, not because it is 
mine, but because it is the right way. And thereunto 
I thought thou wouldest be moved, through God’s 
grace, by the solemn service of to-day, by our prayers 
and preaching, and our reverent and solemn order, 
especially in the receiving of the Lord’s Supper. But 
God has not seen fit to grant my desire. What thou 
hast seen to-day — I say it with grief and shame — was 
more fit for a field of battle than for the house of 
God.’ 

Norbert stood straight up before his father, and 
looked at him with kindling eyes. 

‘Father,’ he said, ‘I have seen a field of battle 
to-day. And I have seen the best man win. Yon 
starveling black-coat with the long face may preach 
what he likes, and, indeed, I scarce understood a word 
he said, but he has the right, for he stands to it, and 

50 


French Exiles and Genevan Libertines 


makes all men mind him, because he is a man and a 
brave one. But, father,’ he added after a pause, ‘ have 
the kindness, I pray of thee, to speak naught of this 
to the household. Those froward companions, the 
bookbinder’s lads, would be past all bearing with 
conceit, did they know I was driven to say so much in 
praise of their uncle, whom they worship as a king.’ 

* He will be King of Geneva, ere all is done,’ returned 
De Caulaincourt. ‘But I will respect thy confidence, 
my son,’ he added with a smile. 

‘ Here is a sample of God’s ways, and a rebuke to 
my faithless heart,’ he thought afterwards. ‘ The very 
thing I feared would revolt my wayward boy has 
touched him in the right place. God grant me sometime 
— somewhere — to see my whole desire for him fulfilled ! * 


CHAPTER V 

DE CAULAINCOURT’S TWO FRIENDS 
‘Calvin for the rest 

Made bold to burn Servetus — ah, men errl* 

E. B. Browning. 

T O De Caulaincourt, as well as to his son, the life 
of Geneva was new and strange, but to him it 
was also delightful. His host introduced him 
promptly to his own cercle or ahbaye^ which was that of 
the printers. These cercles resembled modern clubs, 
almost every trade or craft having its own, where 
matters of general interest were discussed, news told 
or heard, and anything that called for united action 
debated and decided. He speedily made acquaintance 
with many of his countrymen, exiles for the Faith like 
himself, some of them men of remarkable gifts, and 
all of high character. Still, owing probably to some 
peculiarity in himself, though he was friendly with all, 
he became intimate only with two — his host, Antoine 
Calvin, and his next-door neigh’ouur. Ami Berthelier. 
These two, in his thoughts, he called respectively the 
morning and the evening, because the one was sad and 
cynical, the other always full of hope and cheer. The 
description was truer than he knew. Berthelier was the 

52 


De Caulairicourt’s Two Friends 


representative of old causes, old principles, old ambitions, 
while the great Reformer’s brother was a son of the 
morning — the future was with him and his. Still, the 
‘evening and the morning were the first day.’ Not 
more surely does evening lead to night, than through 
•night again to morning: there were thoughts in the 
lame old Huguenot’s mind which belonged not to the 
past, or even to the present, but to the centuries yet to 
be. No one suspected ihis ; every one thought, and 
most of all himself, that he was ‘behind the times,’ 
and that his rightful place was with the bygone 
generation. 

One evening in October, when De Caulaincourt was 
supping with Berthelier, his host, with some pride, 
called upon him to admire the firmness the syndics 
had shown that day in the matter of Michael Servet. 
Every one in Geneva knew that this irian — whose name 
will be for ever associated with misfortune that was his 
own, and with shame that was not his own — lay in 
prison accused of heresy, blasphemy, and sedition, 

‘What have they done now?’ De Caulaincourt 
inquired, taking mental note of Bertheiier’s joy in all 
that redounded to the honour of Geneva. 

‘ Commissioners from Vienne were sent here, requiring 
in the king’s name that Michael Servet should be 
delivered up to them ; he being judged and condemned 
already by what they call the Holy Inquisition, to be 
burned alive at a slow fire.’ 

‘Well?’ 

‘The syndics sent for the man, and asked him 
whether he would remain with us and abide our 
judgment, or go with those who claimed him ? He 

53 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

implored them, weeping, to do with him themselves as 
they would, only not to send him back with the 
hangman.’ 

* And they ? * 

‘Refused to give him up. Within the walls of 
Geneva there is safety alike for all, whether innocent 
or guilty, until judged righteously, and condemned by 
her own laws.’ 

‘ But who is this, Servet, or Servetus, of whom every 
one is talking ? ' 

‘Oh, a Spaniard. And as to his heresies, as they 
call them, ’tis said he believes that everything is God, 
and God is everything.’ 

‘What blasphemous nonsense ! ’ 

Berthelier shrugged his shoulders. ‘For my part,’ 
he said, ‘I find it so hard to believe that God is 
anything — anywhere ’ 

He was stopped by the horror of anguish in the 
clear, honest eyes of his friend. Laying his hand on 
his arm with a kindly, deprecating gesture — 

‘ Forgive me,’ he said, mournfully. ‘ I forgot. The 
truth is, you always understand so well what I say — 
and even, sometimes, what I do not say — that I was 
tempted to the breaking of my rule of silence, and the 
utterance of those strange thoughts that keep me apart 
from my fellow-men, alone and solitary.’ 

De Caulaincourt recovered himself, thinking he had 
found a meaning in what seemed to him at first mere 
incomprehensible profanity. 

‘I do understand,’ he said. ‘You were saying that 
you find it hard to realise the presence of God, that He 
has withdrawn from you the light of His countenance. 
54 


De Caulaincourt’s Two Friends 


Be comforted, my friend ; it has been often so with 
those He loves. Ay, sometimes with the greatest 
saints. I have heard that such have even thought 
themselves forsaken and reprobate. But what saith the 
Holy Scripture unto such, when they walk in darkness ? 
Is it not, “ Let him trust in the Lord, and stay himself 
upon his God ” ? ' 

Berthelier did not answer ; for De Caulaincourt’s 
sympathy only served, like a torch, to show the depth 
and breadth of the gulf that yawned between them. 
How many silences there are like that, in almost all 
human intercourse ! But presently he resumed — 

* As for Servetus, I think him less dangerous as a 
heretic than as a tool of the Libertines. If he is acquitted, 
they triumph.’ 

‘ You wish it not ? ’ 

* No — by my faith ! Though their leader bear my 
name, and they be my old friends and comrades. Better 
the reign of the saints than the reign of the ruffians and 
roysterers. So, Monsieur de Caulaincourt, you see 
where I stand — as I said, alone and solitary. To Master 
Calvin and the Consistory I am a heathen man and a 
publican, who ought to be thankful to escape prison and 
exile ; to my kinsfolk and old friends I am a coward 
and recreant, who has deserted the cause of freedom. 
But you, at least, ought to pray for the defeat of Philibert 
Berthelier, Michael Servetus, and all the rest. For their 
cry is, “ Geneva for the Genevans,” and if they win they 
will make short work of the Fran^llons* 

‘ Like me ? ’ 

* Like you, and those who support and shelter you.’ 

De Caulaincourt presently took his leave. His heart 

55 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

was perplexed and sad, not with any foreboding of 
danger for himself, but with the thought of the friend 
to whom his heart went out unwittingly. ‘ He is so 
right about many things,’ he thought, ‘yet so wrong 
in one thing, the greatest of all. Still, I love him 
better than I love many a good Christian — which I 
doubt not is my sin. Never saw I any one just like him. 
There seems to be no place to put him in ; his life is 
that of a good man, and yet — well, God knows all! 
And at least he is unhappy — I can pray for him.’ 

Musing thus, he stepped into the workshop, where, 
late though it was, Antoine Calvin still sat ; bringing, 
by the aid of a lamp, the ‘ tooling * on a choice volume 
as near perfection as he might. He was alone, 
having long since dismissed his assistants. When De 
Caulaincourt entered he looked up, and smiled. His 
face bore the same resemblance to that of his famous 
brother that the copy of some masterpiece of painting 
might bear to the original. The features were less 
strongly marked, less rugged and irregular, and 
they had far less individuality, and lacked that fire 
from within which is the outward and visible sign of 
transcendent genius. 

‘There, monsieur,’ he said, showing De Caulaincourt 
his almost completed work, ‘ I think my brother will be 
pleased with this setting for his gem. I have done my 
best, since the volume is destined for presentation to 
some prince or great personage — whom, I know not’ 

‘It is beautiful,’ De Caulaincourt answered, as he 
looked admiringly at the rare and costly binding of 
Spanish leather, and the elaborate gilding, done with 
exquisite care and precision. 

56 


De Caulaincourt’s Two Friends 


‘There is never a book Jean sends out into the 
world but I have my share in it as well as he/ resumed 
Antoine, his smile broadening into a laugh. 

‘The world does not know that,’ De Caulaincourt 
returned. 

‘What matter? Does not Jean preach to us that 
the good God has chosen us before the foundation of the 
world? Well, He chose Jean to write the books, and 
me to bind them.’ 

‘After the good pleasure of His will,’ said De 
Caulaincourt, solemnly. 

‘ A good pleasure and good will, M. de Caulaincourt. 
For it would in no way have suited me to preach in St. 
Peter’s, to write the Institutes of the Christian Religion, 
and to rule in the Consistory, even if I had the wit and 
the skill, which I have not. So I am very thankful that 
He happens to want somebody to bind my brother’s 
books, and lets me do it for him. Moreover, does 
not the Holy Scripture tell us a brother is born for 
adversity ? ’ 

‘ That is so ; yet it does not seem to apply, since for 
your brother it is scarcely now in Geneva the hour of 
adversity. Rather, of triumph.’ 

‘Whatever outward trials he had, and they were 
many, it was not adversity, so long as God lent him my 
good sister Idelette, his true and loving wife,’ said 
Antoine. ‘ But it is four years now since He took back 
the loan. She was one of whom the world knew nothing. 
But you may know what she was from this — never 
Papist nor Libertine of them all, who flung abuse and 
curses at my brother all day long, found one ill word to 
say of her. Whilst we, the few who knew her in the 
57 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

home Doubly, now that she is gone, I think Jean 

hath need of me. No, that is too proud a word, for he 
hath need of no one save his God ; but he likes to have 
me near, and now and then to talk to me.* 

Then Antoine bent his head once more over his 
lowly work. * Perhaps,* he thought, ‘ I have been saying 
too much of myself.* 

‘ Do not forget your promise,* said De Caulaincourt, 
rising to go ; * you are to take me to-morrow as your 
pupil* 

De Caulaincourt, in opposition to the advice of 
his fellow-exiles, had tried his hand at the printing 
without much success. His sight was not strong, 
he found the minute metal types hard to distinguish ; 
moreover, his unaccustomed fingers lacked the required 
dexterity. He thought he might succeed better with 
the outside of the books than he had done with the 
inside. 

H would not seek to dissuade you, monsieur, from 

what is pleasant work, and not over hard ; but yet 

Have I your leave to tell you what I think ? * 

‘ Certainly, my friend.’ 

‘Then I think God has not chosen to bind 
books.* 

‘ How can you tell that ? * 

‘ By your talk, and your ways altogether. You are 
one of God’s fighting-men, monsieur.* 

‘ But there is no War of Religion now.* 

‘There is always the war of religion, though the 
weapons of that warfare be not always carnal. Many 
exiles for the Faith who come here, go forth again to 
spread the light in their own, or in other lands.* 

58 


De Caulaincourt’s Two Friends 


De Caulaincourt started. * I had not thought of 
that/ he said. 

* Nor need you now — nor ever — unless God Himself 
whispers you in the ear. And in the meantime, monsieur, 
if you like to see how things are done here, and try your 
hand upon the tools, I shall be honoured by your 
companionship. Honest labour, indeed, I take to be a 
joy, and at the same time a means of grace.’ 

Whilst he and others went on with their daily work, 
in that Geneva which they loved and for which they 
laboured, there fell a dark blot, not yet effaced, on the 
white robe of the Reformation. Upon the white ground 
every blot shows with terrible distinctness ; the black you 
may steep in ink without perceptible change. Whilst 
not even persecution, not even martyrdom, can ‘ drag 
into fame ’ the innumerable victims of Rome, or find 
room even for their names on the crowded pages of 
history, that one name, Michael Servetus, stands out in 
characters of fire, imperishable, legible to all. Its sad 
celebrity is our vindication. Had the victims of 
Protestantism been more numerous, they would have 
been less remembered. But of the thousands to whom 
it is familiar, how many know anything of the man’s 
real character and opinions, or of the complicated 
causes that led up to that terrible tragedy on the Place 
du Champel ? Nor would this be the place to discuss 
them ; since those children of their own age whose lives 
we are endeavouring to trace (with perhaps one 
exception), saw the matter from the standpoint of that 
age, and not from ours. But a significant circumstance 
may be worth the mention. The very man upon whom 
posterity has conspired to lay the blame of the tragedy, 
59 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

happens to have been the only man who sought to 
mitigate its horrors. John Calvin, together with nearly 
all his contemporaries, Catholic and Protestant, believed 
that Servetus ought to die ; but it was his earnest — 
though, alas ! his unavailing — prayer, that for the death 
of fire there should be substituted the milder doom of 
the headsman’s axe. 


6o 


CHAPTER VI 

NORBERT DE CAULAINCOURT’S ONE FRIEND 

‘And when you’ve saved his bloomin’ life, he 
Chaws yer bloomin’ arhi.’ 

Rudyard Kipling. 

* T T OW dare you touch my dog ? ’ 

1 1 ‘ How dare you call him by that name?’ 

‘I shall call my own dog by what name I 
please. Come here, Cain, Cain ! ’ 

‘You shall not get him. How dare you, I say 
‘You must be in love with the first murderer, if you 
resent my calling a brute after him.’ 

‘You know as well as I that when you say “Cain” 
you mean ’ 

‘ Oh, very well I Then the tyke shall have his name, 
and the whole of it. Come here, Calvin ! ’ 

‘Take that for yourself! And as for the cur, he 
shall have a long rope and a short shrift.’ 

This angry colloquy took place one Saturday 
afternoon on the great field called the Plain-palais, 
whither the Genevan youth resorted for the ‘ Plays,’ or 
contests in shooting at the mark and other manly sports 
and exercises in which they delighted, and all the more 
ixcause there was not in their daily lives too much 

6i 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

recreation or amusement. A group had gathered round 
the two disputants, a tall lad named Perrin, nephew to 
the noted Libertine, Ami Perrin, and a scholar of the 
academy who was vowing summary vengeance upon the 
ill-looking mongrel dog, to which the Libertine youth, 
after the custom of his party, had given the name 
of Calvin by way of insult and mockery. Holding the 
dog by the throat with one hand, he dealt Perrin 
with the other a stinging blow in the face ; and this 
being speedily returned, and others joining in, there 
was the prospect of a very pretty fight. The Libertines 
were the weaker party ; and for that reason only, young 
Norbert de Caulaincourt, who was present, must needs 
take their side. The luckless dog was the object of 
contention, and bid fair to be strangled or pulled to 
pieces in the fray. At last Norbert, always in the 
midst of things, flung himself over the creature, body, 
limbs and all, as an English boy in a football scrimmage 
would throw himself on the ball. It was a wonder 
boy and dog had not their lives crushed out of them. 
Norbert made sure that at least a dozen ‘ill companions* 
were on the top of him, squeezing the breath out of his 
body ; while the wretched dog underneath, not knowing 
friend from foe, was making frantic efforts to get his 
head free and to bite him. He began to think his last 
moment had come. 

All at once the weight grew less, seemed to be 
rolling away. He could breathe again. Presently he 
saw the light, as well as he could for the sparks that 
danced before his bewildered eyes. ‘Get up,* said a 
voice in his ear. Then a hand touched him, and helped 
him so effectually that he stood upon his feet, and 

62 


Norbert de C^ulaincourt’s Oae Friend 


tried to look about him, though he was still dazed 
and giddy. 

He saw in his rescuer one of the foremost scholars 
of the academy, the same young Frenchman who, on 
his first coming, had given him timely warning of the 
penalties of disobedience. The tall fair-haired youth, 
with sunshine in his face, standing over the prostrate 
dog, reminded him of a picture he had seen somewhere 
of St. Michael and the Dragon. 

‘ Thanks, De Marsac,’ he panted. * Curse that dog ! 
He has bit me,' putting his hand to his arm. 

‘ He is dead,’ said another voice, ‘or if he is not, he 
ought to be. Let us finish him.’ 

‘What good will that do?’ De Marsac interposed. 
‘ Because some silly fellow has given the beast a 
name too big for his nature, is that a reason for 
killing him? Let him be, or take him to his master, 
whom I see yonder. Caulaincourt, are you much 
hurt ? ’ 

‘Nothing to signify,’ Norbert said bravely. ‘The 
ungrateful brute! Next time they may hang him, for 
me,’ he added, trying to laugh. 

‘ Let me play the barber,’ said De Marsac, producing 
a fair white kerchief. 

Here the dog rose slowly and shook himself, after 
the manner of his kind. Perhaps he saw his master, 
who was coming towards them with a doubtful air, half 
hostile and half friendly. Louis de Marsac ‘ capped ’ to 
him politely. 

‘ Here is your dog. Master Perrin,’ he said. ‘ It 
was no fault of his that his name gave umbrage to 
some of us. There are plenty of good names to choose 

63 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

from. One might call a dog Caesar, now, or Alexander, 
without offence ; but here in Geneva it were wise not 
to meddle with a greater name than these. Though at 
present there is no harm done, save that my friend 
here, who was trying to protect him, has had his arm 
bitten.* 

‘ I am very sorry,* said Perrin. * And I thank him, 
and you. For one of the Regenerate you speak very 
fairly. If the rest were like you, we might get on better 
with them.’ 

He went off, his dog limping after him with a 
disconsolate air. 

De Marsac turned his attention to Norbert, and very 
deftly bound up his wound, which was not serious. 

‘ I will walk home with you,* he said. ‘ There are 
friends of mine who live next door to you in the Rue 
Cornavin, and I shall be very glad to visit them this 
holiday evening.* 

Norbert was delighted. In spite of his hurt, he 
walked gaily along beside De Marsac, who chatted with 
him pleasantly. 

‘You will soon be done with school, will you not?* 
Norbert asked him. 

‘Yes, with the academy. But I have still to attend 
the theological school.* 

‘ I suppose you will be glad to leave. I should be, 
I know.’ 

‘ I shall be glad, not for what I leave, but for what 
I go to,* and over his bright young face there passed 
a look that made it brighter still. 

They had now reached the Porte Neuve, by which 
they entered the town, with many others who were 

64 


Norbert de Caulaincourt’s One Friend 


returning from the Plain-palais. As they walked along 
the Corratorie they met Berthelier and Gabrielle, taking 
the air, as the afternoon was very fine for the season 
of the year. 

Both the lads saluted ; De Marsac with a flush and 
a beaming smile. 

* I did not know you knew them/ said Norbert. 

‘ Oh yes ; did I not tell you I was going to see 
them ? Master Berthelier’s sister, Damoiselle Claudine, 
and I are fast friends. Some years ago, when I came 
here first, a mere child, I was one day in the market, 
looking about me and buying cherries or the like, when 
I saw this poor damoiselle being frightened half out of 
her senses by a group of angry, scolding fishwomen. 
That was before such good order was put in the market, 
and in all the town, thanks to Master Calvin. She had 
told them, quite truly, that they were trying to cheat 
her. I fought her battle with all my might, which in 
truth was not great, and at last brought her home in 
triumph. She was much more grateful than the occasion 
required, and has been my very good friend ever since. 
I — they — they are all good to me, though lately, being 
much occupied with my studies, I have seen them but 
seldom.* 

‘Do you not think the young damoiselle very 
pretty?’ asked Norbert. ‘I do.’ 

‘ She is beautiful,’ Louis answered quietly ; and the 
subject dropped. 

‘De Marsac,’ said Norbert, after a pause, ‘may I 
ask you a question ? ’ 

‘Why, of course.’ 

‘You said anon you were glad of that to which you 
65 B 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

go when you leave the school. You cannot mean those 
long lectures of Master Calvin. What is to come after ? ’ 

‘I go back to my country — my France, to preach 
the Gospel there.’ 

Norbert stopped, and lookeci at him surprised. 

‘ What makes you do it he asked at last. 

‘ Why should I not ? ’ 

*Why should you, once safe out of the lions' den, 
thrust your head into it again ? ’ 

‘Because I am on His errand who can shut the 
lions’ mouths.’ 

Norbert was silent. He felt a kind of awe. Pie had 
heard such things said before by Master Calvin, Master 
Bonna, or others of the ministers. But this lad, his 
own school-fellow, was going to prove them — a very 
different thing. 

However, as they turned into the Rue Cornavin, he 
said — 

‘You will not want to go farther, having seen that 
your friends are out walking.’ 

‘My friend is the Damoiselle Claudine, who is like 
to be at home. 1 will go and ask for her.’ So he 
accompanied Norbert to his own door. 

Thus began one of those boyish friendships, so 
delightful in youth, so helpful often for all the after- time. 
Perhaps the most perfect are those when one friend is 
just leaving childhood, and the other just entering 
manhood ; for then there is added to the schoolboy’s 
sense of comradeship the almost adoring reverence of 
the younger, and the protecting tenderness of the elder. 
Norbert certainly adored Louis de Marsac ; he copied 
his ways as far as he could ; he even tried to learn his 

66 


Norbert de Caulaincourt’s One Friend 


own lessons properly, that at next ‘Promotions’ he 
might enter a higher class, and so stand a little nearer 
to his idol. Nay, he carried his affection so far as to 
try and listen with attention to the sermons of Master 
Calvin. He had many opportunities ; on Sundays 
Calvin, with the other ministers, took it in turn to preach 
in the churches of the town, and thus he was often in 
St. Gervais, the parish church of the dwellers in the 
Rue Cornavin. Besides, every Wednesday all the 
scholars of the academy were obliged to attend his 
lectures in the cathedral. Norbert longed to discover 
the secret of the magic spell which could hold his 
high-spirited friend, brimming over with life and energy, 
in rapt, motionless attention, often for nearly two hours 
by the sand-glass. But he failed utterly ; he held 
Master Calvin, as a man, in much respectful awe, but 
as a preacher he might almost as well, for Norbert de 
Caulaincourt, have spoken in Greek. 

Long sermons were not perhaps the worst part of 
the general dulness of everything in this dull, sad 
Geneva ; where every day he regretted the sports and 
the pleasures of ‘ La belle France ’ — the gay dances, the 
masques, the merry-makings. Everything here was 
so cold, so colourless. How he hated the weary, 
monotonous round of lessons, preachings, admonitions ! 
Scarcely less distasteful were the sober meals, where the 
conversation was sure to turn upon things he cared not 
for, or could not understand, and the fare, though 
always wholesome and sufficient, was certainly frugal. 
Along with other childish traits, the child’s taste for 
sweets and dainties remained with him still ; and he 
could not hide his contempt and disgust when informed 

67 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

that the number of dishes people might have for dinner 
or supper was strictly regulated by law. Though this 
perhaps was rather from his disdain for bourgeois 
syndics and councillors, than from his love for pasties. 

It was part of the same childishness that at school 
he was not only idle, but wayward and petulant, 
sometimes even rebellious. Here De Marsac’s influence 
came in most opportunely. His kindly help and frank, 
brotherly counsel saved Norbert from the consequences 
of some of his escapades, and kept him out of others, 
and worse ones. 

Under this influence he began to grow ; and as he 
grew he began to find that even in Geneva there were 
some pleasures to be had. It was good — but that had 
been always — to be with his father, to whom, indeed, 
even in his worst moods he was ever loyal and obedient. 
It was good to see De Marsac every day in school, to 
exchange words or looks with him whenever discipline 
allowed it, to go with him on Sundays for a quiet walk 
on the Crets or by the river, and on holiday afternoons 
to the sports on the Plain-palais, where he applauded 
his triumphs, and sometimes shared them. 

There was something else which he found very good, 
perhaps better than all the rest. His father took him 
with him occasionally, when he went to sup with his friend 
Berthelier. Then Norbert enjoyed the supreme felicity 
of a seat at the table opposite pretty Gabrielle Berthelier. 
Occasionally he could serve her, though it might be 
only with bread or salt ; he could even exchange a word 
or two with her. Often, too, they met in the street, 
when he * capped ’ to her, and got sometimes a word of 
greeting. No one guessed — he could not have borne 
68 


Norbert de Caulaihcourt’s One Friend 


that any one should guess, even his father or De Marsac 
— what these meetings were to him, and how he watched 
for them. 

So time passed on, until the winter was nearly over ; 
although the weather continued most severe, and the 
snow was deep on the ground. 

The March night was at its very coldest, darkest, 
and dreariest when Norbert de Caulaincourt, lying on 
his truckle-bed beside his father, heard a cry go up 
from the street, ‘ La four chauffe ’ (the oven is hot). 
He had been fast asleep, but he had the valuable power 
of waking at will, when his will was strong enough, as 
in this case it certainly was. He had determined the 
night before exactly what to do. He started up — he 
had lain down half dressed — threw on his blouse and 
buckled it, took his shoes in his hand, and then, very 
cautiously, for fear of waking his father — usually a 
much lighter sleeper than himself — groped his way out 
of the room and downstairs. 

He was not the only wakeful person in the house. 
Jeannette, the servant, was already in the kitchen, 
kindling a lantern at the embers of last night’s fire, 
which for the purpose she had stirred to a blaze. 
Before it was a goodly store of the black bread in 
common use, which had been kneaded the night before, 
and left, as housewives say, ‘to rise,’ and this she 
proceeded to place carefully in a great wooden bowl, 
with a view to carrying it to the oven of the ‘Quarter.’ 
Each morning a certain number of households sent 
their bread (usually a fortnight’s supply) to this public 
bakery, summoned by the cry in the street, ‘ La four 
chauffe.’ 


69 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

* In heaven’s name, Master Norbert, what takes you 
out of your warm bed this freezing night ? But since 
you are here, just help me with this, like a good lad.’ 

* This,’ was the great, heavy bowl, which, tied 
securely with rope of twisted straw, had to be hoisted 
upon the back of the strong serving woman. Norbert 
set it there, and whispered in her ear — 

‘You told me the Bertheliers’ Marguerite was ill, 
and that now, there being none else fit to do it, 
Damoiselle Gabrielle was to bring the bread to the 
oven.’ 

‘ So the wind blows that way ! A child like thee ! 
Well, well, young folk are young but once. Come 
along, then. Here, take the lantern, while I open the 
door.’ 

A blast, cold enough to chill them to the marrow, 
met them as they stepped out into the snowy street. 
But Norbert felt no cold, for just then the door of the 
next house had opened, and a slight, shrinking figure 
was coming timidly out Gabrielle’s basket was not 
nearly so heavy as Jeannette’s, the household being 
so much smaller, she could easily hold it in her hands. 
She had no lantern, trusting probably to Jeannette’s. 

‘ Please you, damoiselle,’ began Norbert, drawing 
near. But he got no farther. To his unspeakable 
disgust, a tall figure stepped out of the shadow, and, 
almost without a word, relieved her of the basket 

This was intolerable. Stung to sudden fury, Norbert 
sprang upon his supplanter, and struck him violently in 
the face. 

‘ Begone, rascal I ’ cried the person assailed, attempting 
no reprisal, but keeping fast hold of the basket ‘’Tis 
70 


Norbert de Caulaincourt’s One Friend 


a thief/ thought he, ‘ who would make me let go, that 
he may run off with the bread/ 

But Norbert recognized the voice of Louis de 
Marsac. Louis, his hero, his friend, his Jonathan — nay, 
his royal David, for the higher name, the greater glory, 
were his unquestioned — Louis to supplant him thus ! 
Et tu Brute! 

‘ Oh^ Louis ! ’ he cried aloud, in a tone of keen 
reproach. ‘ And you knew I meant to do it ! ’ 

‘ Nay,’ said the other, amazed and perplexed. ‘ Nay, 
how could I know ? Only yesterday, after the lecture, 
I heard of the servant’s illness/ 

‘Come on, come on !’ Jeannette cried impatiently. 
‘ Gabrielle, you will lose your place at the oven, and 
Master Berthelier’s bread will go unbaked.’ 

‘ Damoiselle,’ said Louis, quietly, ‘ please to say 
which of us you will have to accompany you, and to 
carry your basket’ 

Gabrielle hesitated, but only for a moment. Then 
she spoke. 

‘M. de Marsac has walked all across the town from 
the Rue de Rive, while M. de Caulaincourt lives next 
door. Therefore, if he will, M. de Marsac shall come 
with me, and carry the basket. M. de Caulaincourt, it 
is so very cold, you ought to go back at once to bed.’ 

Gabrielle was not the first of her sex, nor the last, to 
spoil a tactful speech by just a word too much. Louis 
had come a very long way, there was reason in the plea, 
which Norbert could acknowledge— but then — to be 
sent back to bed out of the cold, like a child ! 

With a bow — as he flattered himself, of manly 
dignity — quite lost in the dark, he withdrew, re-entered 

71 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

the silent house, and regained his bed, his strong young 
frame chilled to the bone, but his heart hot within him. 
He was angry with all the world — very angry with 
Louis ; for what precise reason he would have found it 
hard to say ; angry with Gabrielle also — and yet — and 
yet — amongst his confused medley of feelings the 
predominant one towards her was certainly not anger. 
As he lay in the cold and dark, for perhaps the first time 
in his life unable to sleep, one thought came slowly out 
from the confusion, and stood before him clear and 
plain. It was a thought so great that it seemed to hide, 
or to swallow up, all the rest. ‘When I am a man,’ 
Norbert de Caulaincourt said to himself, ‘ I will not stay 
in this dull, cold Geneva. I will go out into the world 
and fight, and win fame and glory. I will be a soldier 
of fortune. There is plenty of demand for such, and fine 
opportunity every day for a good sword in a brave hand. 
Then I will come back, and marry Gabrielle Berthelier.’ 

There was much comfort in this resolve, so he tried 
to make it as solemn as he could. ‘ I shall very soon be 
a man,’ he continued. ‘ Then I shall have my will. I 
swear it ! ’ He slipped his cold hand within his shirt, 
and pulled out a little gold crucifix given him by his 
step-mother, which, unknown to his father and little 
thought of by himself, he still kept with him. ‘ I swear 
it upon this,’ he said, ‘ and all men know that what is 
sworn upon the cross must needs be done, and come to 
pass.’ 

With this happy certainty sleep overtook him ; and 
the next thing he saw was his father standing over him, 
telling him the morning soup was growing cold, and 
asking if he meant to sleep all day. 

72 


Norbert de Caulaincourt’s One Friend 


Meanwhile, Louis de Marsac was thinking with 
some penitence that he had not dealt quite generously 
with his boy friend. ‘ And he has so little,’ he thought, 
* while I have so much.’ For his own heart knew — oh, 
so well ! — what the result of the appeal to Gabrielle 
would be. It was scarcely fair of him, and too hard on 
poor Norbert! ‘Though, of course,’ his thoughts ran 
on, ‘being but a boy — indeed, a mere child — he would 
not feel it like another, nor understand. Still, it was 
hard on him. And I might have been kinder. I 
ought — when I have so very much.’ 

When they met that day in school, he was frankly 
and sweetly kind. Norbert, on his part, felt conscious 
that he had made rather a fool of himself, and was only 
too glad to be taken on the old terms. Thus the little 
wound in their friendship was quickly healed, and it left 
no scar behind. 


CHAPTER VII 


SISTER CLAUDINE 

* The old order changeth, giving place to new.* 

M eanwhile in Geneva time was passing, bringing 
with it growth and change. One change 
had taken place already in the household of 
Berthelier, which, though to outsiders seemingly of small 
importance, had caused great pain to a timid, tender spirit. 
Poor Claudine, whilst still clinging fondly in heart to her 
own creed, sorrowfully renounced her claims to the crown 
of martyrdom, and left the Church she loved. Not that 
actual martyrdom would have followed, even had she 
persisted in her refusal to conform ; there is no record 
of such a fate befalling any zealous Roman Catholic in 
the city of Calvin ; but she might have been fined and 
imprisoned, and if obstinate, obliged eventually to leave 
the town. But what weighed with her more than any 
fear of personal inconvenience, was the trouble she 
would have brought upon her brother. 

Bcrthclier’s position was already precarious. It is 
true that a certain amount of indulgence was tacitly 
accorded to him, because of his sufferings in the cause 
of freedom. Still, the yearly domiciliary visit of the 

74 


Sister Claucline 


pastors to enquire into the faith and morals of the 
citizens was a terror on his account to Claudine and to 
Mar^ruerite ; though he himself seemed rather to enjoy 
perplexing and baffling their reverences. These pastors 
were nearly all good men, some of them really able 
men, though no doubt they suffered in the popular 
mind from their association with Calvin, a giant who 
made tall men look like pigmies. Berthelier’s favourite 
amongst them was one Abel Poupin, who, during a 
visitation of the plague some ten years before, had been 
appointed to minister to the stricken. He began well ; 
but presently, overcome by the horrors of the pest-house, 
he prayed to be relieved. For this weakness, which he 
bitterly repented, he was atoning by a life of unremitting 
attention to duty, and of earnest, simple piety. 

To him Berthelier explained that he had no wish to 
disturb the present order of things, that he would attend 
the preaching whenever his health permitted, and behave 
in all things as a loyal citizen. But as for believing 
unto salvation, did not Master Calvin himself teach that 
we could not do it without special grace, which was 
given only to the elect.!* If it was not given unto hin . 
what was he to do ? 

‘You could pray for it,’ Poupin said. 

‘ Not unless I had it already,’ Berthelier retorted. 

Very earnestly Poupin answered, ‘ Master Berthelier, 
you are only fencing with me. You know very well 
that upon these questions any man may talk himself 
into a blind alley, but he who walks always finds the 
way out. Are you walking ? ’ 

Berthelier bowed his head and said gravely, ‘God 
knows.’ 


75 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

The pastor added solemn words about the shortness 
of time and the nearness of eternity ; and Berthelier, as 
he saw him depart, said heartily — 

‘There goes a true man.’ 

A few days afterwards Claudine and Gabrielle sat 
together sewing. The room was comfortably furnished, 
for Berthelier was careful that his sister should want for 
nothing, but it was quite devoid of any ornament or 
any touch of brightness or beauty. Save one, indeed — 
the young girl who sat on her footstool beside the 
chair of the elder woman, seemed to have gathered into 
her face, as into a cup, enough of brightness to have 
flooded a palace. Hers was the beauty of the South, 
hair of polished ebony, eyes that were ‘ dark suns ’ veiled 
by long black lashes, complexion just tinged with 
brown, features of perfect, delicate loveliness. Just 
then the flower-like face was bending, in evident anxiety, 
over a difficult piece of embroidery. 

Claudine had needlework of her own, but seemed 
to be thinking much more of Gabrielle’s. She looked 
frail and ill, her troubles of mind had told upon her 
health, never strong. 

‘ I think the light begins to fail,’ Gabrielle suggested, 
with a little sigh. 

‘ Now that is foolish. My eyes are old, yet I have 
good daylight still. But you tire quickly of your needle. 
In the convent we always wrought on until vespers. I 
should like to know what would have happened if one 
of the novices had announced that she was tired, and 
would like to stop, as you often do, Gabrielle.’ 

‘ Ah, but in the convent you were slaves obeying the 
will of others. Now, we are free.’ 

76 


Sister Claudine 


‘Free? If the apprentice were free of his master, 
how much of his craft would he learn, think you ? ’ 

‘Of course,’ Gabrielle said submissively, ‘I would 
obey you, ma tante, even though I were not, like an 
apprentice, learning from you.’ 

‘ Learning from me ? ’Tis long since thou hast done 
that.’ There was some pain in the tones of Claudine. 

‘ I am learning this broidery from you. And I want 
to learn it.’ 

‘’Tis worth it. Our lady abbess learned it from 
a near kinswoman, who was taught by one of the ladies 
of the late Duchess of Savoy, God rest her soul ! That 
was in the good old times when our lord the duke used 
to visit us, and the prince-bishop used to come and 
dwell in the Evech^, and there would be great stir and 
joyance in the town.’ 

‘But now,’ said Gabrielle, ‘we have got rid of the 
Savoyards. And we thank God for it’ 

‘ It is easy to talk of getting rid of the Savoyards, 
but not so easy to do it Knowest thou how many of 
our best families are of Savoyard blood and race? 
Knowest thou not, moreover — ah, but I believe thou 
dost not, and I ought not to have spoken.’ 

‘What meanest thou, dear aunt?’ asked Gabrielle. 
‘ What know I not ? ’ 

‘ Oh, nothing — nothing of the slightest importance.’ 

‘ Is it that any of our friends have come of Savoyard 
blood, as thou sayest, aunt? Indeed, already I know 
they have. But what does it matter, if they are good 
and true, like the Rosets, the Vandels, the Auberts ? 
And you know the French exiles are the best, the very 
best, among us.’ 


77 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

Why did not Claudine accept this way of escape 
from a perilous subject, instead of returning on its 
traces? It was surely some fatality that made her 
say — 

‘If Savoyard blood is good, I like it better than 
French blood. And there is that among us. Nay, 
even — but I do not think I ought to say more.’ 

‘Why not. Aunt Claudine.^ What harm is in it 
Now I am a child of Geneva, what should I care, if I 
heard that my great-great-grandfather had been a 
Savoyard ? ’ 

‘ Wouldest thou care, child, if it came nearer to thee? 
After all,’ thought Claudine, ‘ she will have to know the 
truth some day, and Ami never forbade me to tell her.’ 
Yet still she paused, as in doubt. 

‘What mean you, ma tantef Speak, I pray of 
you,’ said Gabrielle, with the curiosity the ‘ I could 
an I would ’ manner never fails to awaken. 

‘Thou art my brother’s adopted child, and he has 
ever been to thee a father indeed. I think he cares 
not to be reminded, nor to have thee reminded, that 
thou art not his own. Yet he is fond of saying we 
ought to know, and speak, all things that are true, 
though they tend not either to pleasure or to edification. 
But men are ever inconsistent.’ 

‘ I do not want any father or any friends, save those 
God has given me. Never child had better,* said 
Gabrielle warmly. 

‘Has it never come into thine head to think upon 
thine own parents, and wonder who they were ? * 

‘Never,’ Gabrielle answered promptly. ‘What does 
it matter? Though I suppose,’ she added, ‘they were 

78 


Sister ClauJine 


peasants, “Grey-feet” as they call them, from the country, 
or at least from the suburbs destroyed at that time for 
fear of the enemy. My father took them in for the 
love of God — and they died. That is all I know, or 
want to know. I am a child of Geneva.’ 

* Do you know, my dear, I am almost sure you are 
a child of Savoy ? ’ 

Gabrielle started. ‘ Oh no, no ! ’ she cried, ‘ that 
cannot be ! I am no Savoyard, I am of Geneva — I ! I 
will not be a Savoyard. They are cruel, wicked. They 
rob and slay the innocent, and they torture and burn 
the martyrs of God ! ’ 

‘Dost thou not think God made Savoyards as well 
as Genevans } And have no cruel or wicked things 
ever been done by children of Geneva? But be that 
as it may, thou canst not help thy birth. And there 
are two sides to every matter. Take the satisfaction of 
knowing it was gentler than thou wottest of. Gentler ? 
Nay, as noble as the best. The poor people who died 
here. Marguerite tells me, were but thy foster-parents. 
From things they said, and from something — a scrap 
of paper, wrapped in silk and put round thy baby-neck 
as a charm — it was gathered thou wert of Savoy, and 
of noble birth.’ 

Gabrielle looked up, amazed and wondering, but 
certainly far more pained than pleased. She asked 
very naturally — 

‘ Aunt, where is this scrap of paper ? I should like 
to see it.’ 

‘That canst thou not, and more the pity! Thy 
father (thou knowest his way) told me, when I asked 
for it, that he had burned it by mistake. Like a man’s 
79 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

carelessness! Perchance thereby he hath lost thee 
some fair inheritance/ 

‘ Nay/ said Gabrielle, with energy. ‘ He hath done 
me a good turn, and I thank him. With Savoy have 
I nothing to do — nor will L’ 

‘ That knowest thou not yet. I was thinking of all 
this yester eve, when M. de Caulaincourt supped with 
us, and talked of going forth into Savoy.’ 

‘I thought he only meant to go amongst the 
country-folk round about,’ said Gabrielle. ‘I hope he 
will not venture beyond the Liberties. That were too 
dangerous.’ 

‘ Belike he thinks as little of danger as that poor 
young De Marsac, over whom I could weep,’ said 
Claudine. ‘ Child — Gabrielle, what ails thee ? ’ For 
she saw the girl’s hands were trembling, and her colour 
came and went. With quickened instinct she went on, 
speaking slowly and deliberately, as one who forced 
herself to the task. ‘ M. de Marsac is a very amiable 
young man, and I esteem him highly — as a friend. But 
we are not of his kin, nor has he any here, parent or 
guardian, to restrain his actions. So we need not speak 
of him farther. I marvel how M. de Caulaincourt, being 
a Frenchman, is so well acquaint with the tongue of 
Savoy. He must find it very convenient here, where 
that patois is used so commonly/ 

‘Norbert told me ’ 

‘ Speak up, my dear, for I cannot hear thee. What 
ails thy voice ? Norbert told thee what ? ’ 

*That his father, in his youth, was a prisoner in 
Savoy,’ said Gabrielle with an effort, her face bent low 
over her work, which she was doing very badly. 

8o 


Sister Claudine 


‘I knew he would soon tire of printing and book- 
binding, which are handicrafts not fit for gentlemen. 
And he would tire still more of doing nothing. So for 
sheer lack of occupation he must needs go about the 
country, like a wandering friar (save that he is a 
heretic), spreading the doctrines of Master Calvin. It 
is all strange to me. But then, everything is strange 
here ; everything is changed.’ 

*Not strange — no,’ Gabrielle said falteringly. 

*Not to thee, child; for thou too hast forsaken the 
old paths, which were good enough for our fathers, 
and our fathers’ fathers, who sleep in God. It is hard 
— for me. Because, I taught thee, I love thee ’ 

‘You love me,’ Gabrielle said gently, putting her 
hand in hers. 

‘Yes, child, I love thee. Therefore I grieve to see 
the change in thee. I used to hope thou wouldest 
be to me as a dear daughter, my joy and consolation in 
this new, cold, faithless world. But now thou wilt learn 
no more from me. Thou dost prefer, forsooth, the 
teaching of an old serving-woman, thy nurse and mine. 
A good nurse, I am bound to say, and a faithful servant. 
But an ignorant, presumptuous, high-minded “intruder 
into things not seen, vainly puffed up of her fleshy 
mind,” as saith the Holy Scripture. I should like to 
have seen our lady superior — no, not her, she was 
too gentle — our prioress — take old Marguerite in 
hand.’ 

‘ Dear aunt, I have not learned from Marguerite, but 
— from you.’ 

‘ That is folly, child. Thou hast cast my teaching 
to the winds.’ 


8i 


F 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

‘Not willingly. Indeed, for long I was perplexed 
and sorrowful. I knew not what to think.’ 

‘Why not think as all good men and women 
thought before us ? ’ 

‘ So I said to myself. And I tried — oh, how 
earnestly ! — to say all the prayers you taught me, and 
to believe just as you did.’ 

‘ As I do^ and I care not who hears me say it. 
Though I have lived so long in this heretic city, and 
have been forced to conform to the ways of it, and to 
forego the sacraments of the Church, for the avoidance 
of greater evils.’ 

‘ Marguerite, I acknowledge, did one thing for me,’ 
Gabriclle said in a low voice. ‘ She gave me the New 
Testament ; and she bade me read it with prayer — she, 
who cannot read herself. But you did more, for you 
taught me to love Him of whom it speaks.’ 

A change, not sorrowful, passed over Claudine’s 
sorrowful face. Gabrielle had touched a chord that 
thrilled in response. She crossed herself in silence. 

Then the Book made me love Him more,’ Gabrielle 
said. ‘ It showed me He was all I wanted. That day 
when the priest came to us, disguised in the butcher’s 
smock and apron, and you wanted me to confess to 
him— how could I? My heart was just full of the 
peace and the pardon of our Lord Himself, and I 
needed no other. So I went away to St Gervais, 
where there was a service. And you were sad for me, 
and troubled. I have wanted ever since to tell you 
how it was.’ 

‘You speak well, child,’ said Claiidine. ‘But then 
you are not learned, nor am I. There are other 
82 


Sister Claudine 


commands of our Lord which are not written in the 
Book. But I am only an ignorant woman, and know 
not what they are. The priests used to teach us. Now 
I — I know nothing. Only I know I am right.’ 

‘And I too know I am right,’ Gabrielle would 
have made instant answer, but that would have been 
disrespectful, and the maiden of the sixteenth century 
was nothing if not respectful to her elders. She kept 
silence, thinking, however, of something Louis de Marsac 
had once said in her hearing. Unconsciously, all her 
thoughts were taking colour from Louis de Marsac’s — 
especially her best and highest thoughts. Her own 
faith at this time owed no little of its joy and 
brightness to her contact with one whose inner life 
was ‘ all sunshine.’ Half unawares she spoke out, ‘ I 
am minded of something Louis said ’ 

‘ W/io said ? ’ her aunt asked sharply. 

‘ M. de Marsac,’ Gabrielle corrected herself, blushing 
‘ One night here, at supper ; he and my father differed 
on some matter, and he said, “ Sir, you know there are 
people on the other side of the world whose night is our 
day, and whose day is our night, yet for all that we 
all see the same sun.” Then my father made answer, 
with that quiet smile of his : “ M. de Marsac, if you 
understand your own parable, and go where it leads you, 
you will be a far wiser man than Master Calvin.” ’ 

‘ Certainly I do not understand. But, Gabrielle, I 
understand too well that M. de Marsac should not come 
here so often. Nor, if he does, should you and he talk 
together, as of late you have fallen into the habit of 
doing. You are no more a child now, but a young 
maiden, who must be wise and circumspect.’ 

83 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

am trying to be wise/ said Gabrielle with a 
trembling lip. 

*I know it, my child. Thou hast grown vastly in 
prudence and in thoughtfulness. No one would know 
thee now for the froward child I found thee, when I 
used to put thee ** in penitence for playing with the 
bookbinder’s boys.’ 

Gabrielle thought there was a vast difference 
between talking with Louis — who was good and wise, 
and from whom she always learned so much — and 
playing with rough boys, as she used to do long ago, 
when she was a child. What could her aunt mean? 
With the question a thrill came to her, unfelt before. In 
* the purple twilight under the sea ’ of conscious thought, 
something was stirring within her, she knew not what. 

‘ I am grown up now,’ she said. And she felt it. 

*Not quite; but thou art growing fast. And I 
would have thee know that there are snares in the 
young maiden’s path more dangerous than those which 
beset the child. Moreover,’ she added, with a touch of 
bitterness, *your new religion has swept away the safe 
refuges of other days for the tried, the tempted, or the 
broken-hearted maiden.’ 

‘ Aunt, did you become a nun of St. Claire because 
you were broken in heart ? ’ Gabrielle asked suddenly ; 
thus, by a bold stroke, carrying the war into the 
enemy’s country. 

‘ I was broken-hearted for my brother’s sake, to whom 
all my life was devoted. Besides, I had nowhere else 
to go.’ 

‘ I thought,’ Gabriel hazarded, * that there might 
have been — some one ’ 


84 


Sister Claudine 


' Certainly not ! ’ Claudine said, with emphasis, as if 
repelling some injurious accusation. ‘ I am the bride of 
Christ. That is, I was' she added, with a deep sigh. 
She went on presently in an altered tone : * What I am 
now. He only knows. And whether He can forgive me. 
He knows also.’ 

‘“He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins,”’ 
Gabrielle ventured to whisper. 

‘ I do not doubt it. What I doubt is, that He will 
forgive me. No, do not speak to me. It is but a little 
while until all these dark things shall be made clear 
before me. I shall be glad, even though I go, not to 
peace, but to pain. There — I know what you would 
say ; you have got rid, along with other things, of 
the cleansing fires of purgatory. So also you have 
got rid of the viddme^ who used o act for the 
bishop and punish your offences. But you know 
the viddme is gone, and cannot return. Who has 
risen from the dead, to tell you the fires of purgatory 
are gone too ? * 

‘ Christ has risen, for our justification,’ Gabrielle said 
softly. ‘To the justified there is no more suffering for 
sin.’ 

‘Let that be as He will,’ Claudine answered. ‘As 
for thee, Gabrielle, thy father may need, in the days to 
come, thy loving ministrations. Thou wilt not fail 
him ? ’ 

‘ I ? Do I not love him more than — as much as 
child ever loved father ? ’ 

‘ Then stand by him, and help and cheer him as long 
as thou canst. Not that I am saying to thee, “ Do not 
wed.” These are things we women cannot arrange after 

8s 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

our own will and pleasure. But, whatever thy lot may 
be, see thou do not leave him desolate. Remember, 
he saved thy life ; and all thou hast thou owest unto 
him. But I hear his foot upon the stair. Put up thy 
work, Gabrielle, and go and help Marguerite to serve 
the supper.* 


96 


CHAPTER VIII 

THE NEW GENEVA 

M eanwhile the city by the lake, where Claudine, 
Gabrielle, and the rest led their quiet, 
uneventful lives, had become the scene of a 
strange experiment. Not all her citizens, indeed, but 
the best part of them, and the part that was more 
and more acquiring the preponderance, were bent on 
making her a pure theocracy ; to be governed in strict 
conformity with the law of God, by those who 
regarded themselves as His servants and deputies. 
That magnificent experiment had been tried before. 
For a few bright, glorious, disappointing years 
Savonarola had taught his Florence that Christ alone 
was her Lord and King, till even the children shouted 
in the streets, ‘ Viva il Re G^su ! ’ We know how it 
ended — how, after misfortunes and mistakes not a few, 
the prophet, as was meet and fitting, died for his 
disowned, repudiated King. The work of the prophet 
of Geneva lasted longer ; and he was spared the final 
tragedy, which, nevertheless, would have immeasurably 
heightened his fame. But there were many points of 
resemblance, if many also of contrast, between the 
fervent, passionate Italian and the calm, strong 

«7 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

Frenchman, whose fire was the more intense because 
it burned inwardly. 

That the Frenchman’s work not only lasted longer, 
but went deeper than the other, was doubtless partly 
owing to the fact that he was seconded by some in 
whom there was really ‘ the law of the Spirit of life ’ — 
the new life, which means righteousness, power, and 
victory. 

But even outside the Libertine party — with which 
we shall have more to do — there were always those in 
Geneva who remained untouched by the mystic influence, 
like Ami Berthelier, and his sister, and young Norbert 
de Caulaincourt. Still, there were many who threw 
their whole souls open to it, as the fuller spreads his 
cloth in the sun to bleach it. Norbert’s father was one 
of these. His life since he received the new faith had 
been a lonely one. The occasions were very few when 
he could receive at Gourgolles some itinerant Huguenot 
preacher, or journey in disguise to some field meeting, or 
secret administration of the Holy Supper. It is true that 
he had always the Word of God, and that spiritual life 
may be maintained at a very high level by direct access 
to the fountain, without any intermediate streams or 
channels ; still, in the normal course of Christian life, 
streams and channels are God’s way of blessing. 

‘I am another man since I came here,’ he said to 
his friend, Antoine Calvin. 

‘Now you will go and spread the light,’ Antoine 
answered, stitching away diligently at the new edition 
of his brother’s Institutes of the Christian Religion. 

‘ I am willing. But — where to go ? What to do ? * 

‘Ask my brother.’ 


88 


The New Geneva 

*I do not care to trouble him with other men’s 
business/ 

* That is his business. He saith to one man Go,” 
and he goeth, to another “ Come,” and he cometh, and 
to his servant — that is to say, to every Genevan — “ Do 
this,” and he doeth it/ 

De Caulaincourt paused a while ere he answered, 
* Then let him send me whither he will. For,* he added 
with emotion, * all places are alike to me now. I have 
tried once and again to communicate with the dear 
ones left behind at Gourgolles. But in vain ; no word, 
no token comes to me. I see that I am dead to them, 
as they must be to me. Henceforth I have no home on 
earth ; saving that which your kindness gives me here.* 

So he went to Calvin, and was sent forth presently 
on an evangelistic mission to the peasants of the 
Savoyard district adjoining Geneva. His knowledge 
of their patois, so unusual in a Frenchman, was a special 
qualification for the work, and as the scene of it was 
near at hand, he could easily return for counsel, guidance, 
or encouragement — that is to say, if he returned at all. 
For every missionary of the Reformation went forth 
with his life in his hand ; and he knew it. 

All the new Geneva was burning and glowing with 
missionary zeal. Not eager youths alone, like Louis de 
Marsac, but men of mature age, like De Caulaincourt, 
caught the fire, and longed to spend and be spent — nay, 
to be offered up — for Him whom their soul loved. 

Him whom their soul loved ! That was what the 
Reformation, that was what Protestantism — nay, that 
was what Calvinism meant for them. Not an iron 
system of logic, but the face of a living, everlasting 

89 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

Friend, who, each man felt, loved him, chose him before 
the foundation of the world ‘to glorify God and to 
enjoy Him for ever.’ Dogmas that to us look stern, 
look repellent even, seemed to them — like that other 
‘ stern Daughter of the Voice of God ’ of whom the poet 
sings — to wear — 

‘The Godhead’s most benignant grace, 

Nor was there anything so fair 
As was the smile upon (their) face.* 

There was sweetness unutterable, there was strength 
adamantine, which no world in arms could subdue, in 
the creed of these heroic souls — ‘ Thou shalt guide me 
with Thy counsel, and afterward receive me to glory. 
Whom have I in heaven but Thee ? and there is none 
upon earth that I desire beside Thee.* And not stronger 
souls only, but nobler, holier, and tenderer than those 
who held it thus, has the world never seen, and is never 
like to see. 

Their code of morals did not shut out the pure and 
sacred joys of earthly life, even if sometimes too austere 
to take account of its minor charms and graces. Youths 
like Louis de Marsac, who looked towards martyrdom 
as the eager young soldier of to-day might look towards 
the Victoria Cross, did not dwell always on the heights 
of spiritual exaltation. Or rather, the heights where 
the air was keen and pure and one had wondrous Pisgah 
views, and the valleys where flowers blossomed and 
sweet waters ran, were to them but parts of the same 
journey, with the same Friend walking beside them, 
and the same Home in prospect at the end. 

One day Claudine Berthelier came home from a 
short walk in considerable excitement. 

90 


The New Geneva 


*I have just met Madame de Maisonneuve/ she 
explained to Gabrielle and Marguerite. ‘And she 
insists, positively insists, on our going there to-morrow 
night, to a supper they are giving in honour of the 
Seigneur de Vezelay, who has just come from France.’ 

The Maisonneuves — properly Baudichons de Maison- 
neuves — were the wealthiest family in Geneva, and 
zealous Protestants. 

‘ My father will not go,’ said Gabrielle. 

‘True. M. de Maisonneuve could not persuade him, 
though he did his best. But madame says you must 
come ; she will take no excuse. And, unfortunately, 
so must I, much as I hate it ; for thou couldest not go 
alone. God knows, child, it is no will of mine to put 
vain thoughts into thy head ; still, it is very plain these 
“ Regenerate ” have enough of the world about them to 
like to see a pretty face at their supper-table. What 
wilt thou wear ? ’ 

‘What but my Sunday robe, my silver girdle, and 
the blue ribbons my father gave me } ’ said Gabrielle, 
her eyes sparkling with pleasure. 

‘Well,’ said Claudine, only half content. ‘A plague 
upon these new sumptuary laws, which will allow no 
more, I suppose, to the daughter of a simple burgher, 
not in office — even on a feast day. Though, if all had 

their rights As for me, I shall do well enough in 

my grey robe, with a muslin kerchief and a well-starched 
coif. Madame will send for us, and send us back 
again, under safe escort.’ 

‘ A good thing you will not need mine,’ said 
Marguerite. ‘There will be some one left to take care 
of the master. But I own that, though I have little 

91 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

opinion in general of feasting and revelry, I am not 
sorry the child should have a bit of pleasure for once 
in her life.’ 

A very mild ‘bit of pleasure’ indeed, that 
entertainment at the Maisonneuves, would have seemed 
to a twentieth-century maiden. The repast, restricted 
carefully to the number of dishes by law allowed, was 
served upon a long, narrow table, or ‘ board ’ of polished 
wood, the men, all covered, sitting at one side, the 
ladies at the other. But if there was no great variety 
in the fare, it was abundant and very good. The wine 
was good too, and freely though temperately used. 
Placed first upon the table was that old Genevan 
institution, pot au feu^ a literal pot of noble dimensions, 
containing hares, capons, venison, and other meats in 
their own rich soup, made with wine instead of water. 
Joints, roast and boiled, succeeded, and gave place in 
turn to goodly piles of the confectionery for which 
Geneva was still famous, although, under the new rigime^ 
the market for it had declined. There were not many 
young people present, but by those who were this part 
of the entertainment was thoroughly appreciated. 

‘ I wish Norbert was here,’ said a familiar voice. 

Gabrielle looked up, and met the smiling glance of 
Louis de Marsac, who sat opposite, and was inviting 
her attention to some particularly delicious almond 
cheese cakes. Of course, she had known he was there 
all the time; but she was doubly glad to have him 
speak to her, for her aunt, in virtue of seniority, had a 
place a good deal above her, and the young people on 
either side were strangers. She put her hand out for 
a cake. 


92 


The New Geneva 


‘This is better/ said Louis, giving her another. 

* Is it right to take the best ? ’ she hesitated. 

‘Certainly, when no one else wants it/ 

Just then the concluding grace was said by one of 
the pastors present ; and they all rose from table and 
dispersed about the hall, forming little groups for 
conversation. 

Gabrielle stood uncertain, feeling rather lost and 
lonely among all these strangers. She was grateful to 
De Caulaincourt, who came to her side and pointed 
out some of the personages present, whom she did 
not know. 

‘ But where,* she asked him, ‘ is the Lord of Vezelay ? * 

‘ Do you not know him ? That tall, handsome man 
in the velvet cloak edged with fur.’ 

‘ I thought that was Dr. Theodore Beza.* 

‘Who is Lord of Vezelay,’ said De Caulaincourt, 
smiling. ‘A man of learning, a poet, and at the same 
time the lord of broad lands and much wealth. And 
all he has, gold, learning, genius, he asks no better than 
to lay at the feet of his Lord and ours.’ 

‘ I know he is a great friend of Master Calvin,’ 
said Gabrielle. ‘ I thought /le would have been here 
to-day.’ 

‘ He was bidden, but was too busy to come. But 
there are here four pastors out of nine, and three syndics 
out of four, so methinks Church and State are repre- 
sented fairly.’ 

‘ I have been seeking you, De Caulaincourt,’ said 
their host, coming up at that moment. ‘I want to 
present you to Dr. Theodore. He knows one who hath 
been lately near to Gourgolles, and he can give some 

93 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

tidings of your family ; not much, but good as far as 
they go/ So De Caulaincourt was hurried off, and 
Gabrielle left alone once more. But Louis had been 
on the watch for his opportunity, and approached her. 

‘I pray of you, damoiselle/ he said, ‘let us play 
together the game of the key.’ 

He led her to a small table, upon which lay a large 
and heavy key, or a piece of metal made to resemble 
one, with marks and figures on it. To push this key as 
far as possible over the edge of the table without letting 
it fall, formed the simple, unexciting pastime with which 
the Genevan citizens rested their weary brains after 
much political and theological debate. There is a 
tradition that Master John Calvin himself was known, in 
some rare moments of leisure, to ‘push the key.’ Two 
other youths joined the game, and volunteered to instruct 
Gabrielle, who usually gave the key too strong a push, 
and sent it clattering to the floor, to her own dismay 
and the amusement of the rest. They used to stoop 
all together to pick it up, and the one who got it 
claimed the post of instructor. But by-and-by the 
other two dropped off, and Gabrielle said to Louis, 
‘ How is it I cannot do it?’ 

‘ Because, mademoiselle, you do it too well. You 
put forth more strength than is needed.’ 

‘ I see. But most things one has to do as well as 
one can. With all one’s strength.’ 

‘I think not. No more than one would give all 
one’s money to a beggar. Then, one would have 
nothing for the next ; and worse, one would become a 
beggar oneself.’ 

‘ I suppose that is so. But no one ever tells us not 
94 



'LET US PLAY TOGETHER THE GAME 
OF THE key : 




The New Geneva 


to give too much. All say, Give,” “ Spend thyself,” 
“ Deny thyself.” That last must be right always, M. 
Louis.* 

* No, damoiselle — indeed no I * 

Gabrielle looked up, surprised, at the bright young 
face before her. She knew, how well! what Louis 
meant to be and do. Surely this was strange doctrine 
— for him ! She said softly — 

* “ Even Christ pleased not Himself.” * 

* His purpose was not to please Himself, nor to deny 
Himself. It was to do the will of God.’ 

* But that will, for us, is to take up the cross.’ 

‘Not the cross always. Often it is joy. The 
Master sits at the board and pours the wine for the 
feast. He bids us drink, and give thanks.’ 

The young man’s face glowed, his bright eyes met 
Gabrielle’s. There was something in them that moved 
her, almost too strongly. She took refuge in a 
commonplace. 

‘ My aunt and the pastors, who do not agree always, 
agree at least in this — they prefer fasts to feasts. I 
think my aunt is glad that I have no proper day of 
as no one knows exactly when I was born or christened. 
But my father objects, and must needs keep my 
next Sunday.’ 

They stopped to listen to the psalm a company of 
well-wishers of the Maisonneuve family were chanting 
outside in their honour. Then followed Bible reading 
and prayer, led by Beza and one of the pastors. So the 
party broke up, and De Caulaincourt and Louis de 
Marsac escorted the Bertheliers to their home. 

Next Sunday a little packet was put into the hands 

95 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

of Gabrielle. It contained an ivory table, set in silver, a 
choice specimen of the work of a well-known Italian 
artist, an exile for religion, settled in Geneva. 

She remembered with burning shame that she had 
inadvertently told Louis de Marsac that day was to be 
her fite. Gifts were such rare things in her experience 
that she had never dreamed of expecting them. And 
yet they were precious — sometimes. 

Thus time passed on, bringing by-and-by an even*, 
in the crowded annals of Geneva, scarce worth a 
recording line, yet to certain young lives of decisive 
import. One day in mid-winter there was a solemn 
service in St. Peter’s, and after prayer and blessing and 
exhortation, the hands of the Presbytery were laid upon 
two young heads bowed before them in reverent awe. 
Denis Poquelin and Louis de Marsac were ordained as 
pastors and missionaries, that they might go forth 
bearing the Bread of Life to their native country of 
France. 

Master Calvin preached from the very appropriate 
text, ‘ Behold I send you forth as sheep in the midst of 
wolves.’ And in the crowded church there were not a 
few who could scarce hear his words for weeping. It 
was not that the young missionaries had kindred there. 
Louis de Marsac had been brought to Geneva, in early 
childhood, by his father, an exile for the Faith, long since 
dead. Denis Poquelin, also a Frenchman by birth, had 
but newly come from Lausanne, where he had been 
educated. But all who held ‘ the Faith ’ were of kin in 
those days. 

Berthelier was not present, he had declined to so 

96 


The New Geneva 


‘ Human sacrifices are not to my taste/ he said. 
• Neither the pope’s, nor yet Master Calvin’s.’ Claudine 
was there, however. ‘ At least,’ she said, ‘ I can put up 
a prayer for these two poor innocent children, who 
are being flung into the fire for the sins of other folk.’ 

De Caulaincourt was absent in Savoy. Norbert had 
gone to church with the scholars of the academy, but, 
as it was half-holiday, he walked home with the 
Bertheliers. When they got out of the church and into 
the street ‘ of the rising sun,’ Claudine’s wrath, the wrath 
of the wounded dove, broke forth in most unwonted 
fashion, for her. 

'Now God forgive that long-nosed, black-avised, 
heretic preacher you have all sold your souls to ! ’ she 
said. ‘ There he stands, free and safe, with all Geneva 
at his back to protect him, and bids those two poor boys 
go forth and be burned at slow fires, as calmly as I 
should say to Marguerite, “Go into the kitchen and 
fetch me a dish-clout.” If he thinks as much as he says 
of the glories of martyrdom, why does he not go and 
win them ? ’ 

‘ That is what I sometimes think,’ Norbert chimed 
in. ‘ I would not even send him to France, but only to 
the Marches of Savoy, where my father goes. It may be 
very wise, very prudent, to stay here and preach to us 

but And yet — I know he is a brave man. Did 

I not see him face the Libertines that day in the 
cathedral ? ’ 

From beneath the hood that shaded Gabrielle’s face 
came a low, trembling voice — 

‘ Perhaps it is not the hardest thing to go.’ 

Norbert left the Bertheliers at their own door, and 

97 G 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

then walked slowly back to the Rue Coutance. There 
was a vague hope in his heart, which was destined to be 
gratified. He met De Marsac, who took his hand after 
the fashion of the time, and said — 

* I was looking for you.’ 

Norbert made as if to turn, ‘ I suppose you are going 
to the Bertheliers ? ’ 

‘No. My farewells there are said. ’Twas thee I 
sought. Come with me.’ 

‘ Thy going is fixed for to-morrow morning, is it not ? ’ 

‘ Yes.’ 

‘ I shall see thee off. Give me the rendezvous.’ 

‘Thanks. I knew thou wouldest be there. But so 
will others. And Denis, for so short a time as he has 
been here, has friends also.’ 

Norbert understood. Louis meant that this should 
be their real farewell. They had so much to say to one 
another that for some time they said scarce anything. 
Then Louis tried to give Norbert some advice about his 
studies. 

‘ I’ll do what I can,’ Norbert said gloomily, ‘ but I 
shall hate the school now. All the good has gone from 
it, with you.* 

‘Oh no ! You will think of me, and do these things 
for me.’ 

‘ Ah ! if thou wouldest ask me to do something for 
thee, really, for thyself! ’ 

‘ Let us turn here into the Rue des Chanoines. 
There strikes the clock of St. Peter’s, and it is the hour 
at which I am to wait upon Master Calvin, and have 
him bid me God-speed. Wilt stay for me outside, 
Norbert ? I shall not be long.’ 

98 


The New Geneva 


‘With all my heart/ said Norbert, relieved ; for he 
feared (very needlessly) that Louis would have proposed 
their going in together. 

Louis knocked, and Norbert made haste to slip out 
of sight before the door was opened. He walked up and 
down for a few minutes, but no very serious demand 
was made upon his patience. It was not long before 
Louis came forth, his bright face shadowed, and tears 
trembling in his eyes. Men were far less careful then 
than now to hide such evidences of emotion. 

‘What is the matter ?’ Norbert asked, sympathizing. 

* Nothing ; all is well. If tears come, they are for 
joy — ^joy that such honour is given me — that I am 
counted worthy. Yet there is pain too — my dear father 
in God ! But do not let us talk of it. Come to the 
cathedral court, where all is quiet.’ 

They did so, and for a little while walked up and 
down in silence. 

Then Louis spoke suddenly, ‘ Thou saidst, if I would 
ask thee to do something, for myself ? ’ 

‘ Ah ! try me.’ 

‘Thou dost know, thou hast guessed, whom in all 
Geneva, in all the world, I hold most dear.’ 

‘Yes, I have guessed. Although, I own, I marvel 
at thy taste.’ 

‘What? You marvel? I thought you held also in 
esteem, in admiration ’ 

‘ Esteem and admiration are no words for it 
Never in all my life was I so frightened of any 
one * 

‘ Frightened ! at gentleness itself, and loveliness ? * 

‘ Gentle he may be to thee, whom he likes. Not to 

99 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

ill scholars like me. But lovely! Heaven help thee, 
Louis, where are thine eyes ? * 

‘ Of whom are you talking ? * asked Louis, standing 
still. 

‘ Of whom should I talk, save the man from whose 
door you have just come forth ? I know you love him 
with a love which unto me is passing strange.’ 

‘ There is another kind of love passing — but not 
passing strange. Oh, Norbert, hast thou not guessed ? 
Thou hast seen her so often ; thou hast seen us together 
more than once or twice. Dost not remember that 
morning when both you and I rose before cock-crow tc 
carry her bread to the oven ? — We have not drunk out 
of the same cup. Nor have I spoken to Master 
Berihelier, far less to her. For see, I go forth with my 
life in my hand, and whether I return or no shall be as 
God wills. But if I do, and I think I shall — she knows. 
Norbert, I hold thee somewhat as a knight would hold 
his dear and loving squire, a young brother already in 
heart, later perhaps in arms. Wilt thou do the squire’s, 
the brother’s, part for me whilst I am absent, serving 
her in aught wherein she may need thy true service } ’ 
The boy who listened felt as if the solid ground was 
rocking beneath his feet. Had he been anything but a 
boy, in half his nature still a child, he would have known 
long ago. His misfortune was that in the other half he 
was not a child. At least in his own opinion it was a 
man’s heart that broke within him now. His palace of 
delight had shivered at a touch, and fallen about him in 
shapeless ruin. For a while he did not dream of 
answering. He could not. 

Louis, so much taller, looked down kindly, even 

T^>0 


The New Geneva 


tenderly on the boy beside him. He saw that somehow 
he was grieved and hurt, but he had no faintest 
suspicion why. 

‘ What aileth my young squire ? * he asked. ‘ Have 
I hurt thee, Norbert, by calling thee thus ? * For he 
knew the lad, like others of his age, would fain be 
accounted a man. 

‘ No, oh no I ’ Norbert roused himself to say. * Louis, 
I will do it. You may trust me.’ 

Little more was said till they parted at the door of 
De Marsac’s lodging. Louis thought Norbert only a 
boy, and supposed that his silence and his sorrowful 
looks were due to the approaching parting. His own 
heart was stirred to the very depths, he was leaving so 
much that he loved, and he was so grateful for the love 
poured forth from all sides upon him. Full of this 
thought, he took his young brother in his strong arms, 
and, as the way then was between man and man, folded 
him in a close embrace, and kissed him lip to lip. 


lOI 


CHAPTER IX 

A DISASTER AND AN APPEAL 

•Thou sendest forth, and dost not spare 
Thy best to meet the tyrant’s worst, 

Thou sowest lives for seed of life — 

Oh, starry stern through all despair, 

Where is thine anguish in the strife?* 

H. Hamilton King. 

A lmost all that Norbert remembered afterwards of 
the rest of that gloomy winter was the cold — 
cold within and cold without. In the dark, every 
morning, before the church clock struck six, he rose 
from his truckle bed, and threw on his clothes, which 
might with advantage have been warmer. Then he 
hurried to the kitchen, took his morning soup with the 
rest, and received from Mistress Calvin a piece of bread, 
with a slice of cheese or a handful of figs or raisins, for 
the gouUy or luncheon eaten by the scholars in class 
while they studied their lessons. Book and tablet in 
hand, he hastened through the dark streets, exchanging 
with his school-fellows remarks and greetings, which 
were bound to be in Latin, though its quality was very 
indifferent. When he reached the school, he took his 
place in the great, bare, dimly-lighted hall, and stood or 
102 


A Disaster and an Appeal 

knelt at the opening exercises, shivering with cold, and 
casting rueful glances toward the place Louis de Marsac 
used to occupy. In the lessons and recitations which 
followed — mainly in Greek and Latin, which were 
admirably taught — his interest was absolutely niL But, 
having a good memory, and what were called ‘ excellent 
parts,’ he always contrived to know enough to pass 
muster and escape punishment. There was an interval 
of two hours for dinner and recreation, then an hour of 
sacred music, which he liked. At four o’clock all the 
classes assembled in the great hall, where three of the 
scholars in turn recited the Creed, the Lord’s Prayer, 
and the Ten Commandments in French, the principal 
pronounced the Benediction, and every one went 
home — Norbert all the more gladly when his father 
chanced to be there. Wednesdays and Saturdays were 
half-holidays, though Norbert thought the former 
dearly bought by having to attend a long sermon at 
the cathedral. Most of his spare time he gave willingly 
to manly sports and exercises on the Plain-palais. 
Here he won far more praise than he did in the 
school. Though small for his age, and remarkably 
childish in appearance, he was strong and dexterous, 
and soon learned to handle with skill the arbalist or 
cross-bow, and the arquebus. 

His father’s influence only excepted (and his 
father was constantly absent), everything at this time 
contributed to harden him. He had lost the friend and 
comrade whom he looked up to and admired, and who, 
without any assumption of superiority, had contrived to 
keep him within the bounds of good and orderly 
behaviour. At the same time he had lost his cherished 
103 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

dream, his one private and particular ray of romance, 
which lit up the dark, waste places of his daily life. 
For it never even occurred to him that he might be 
false to his friend, or dispute with him the prize they 
both desired. Louis was the best man ; and of .course 
the best man must win. It was just his luck, and he 
must put up with it. Here, in this cold, gloomy, joyless 
Geneva, everything went against him. How he hated 
it ; how earnestly he wished himself back in La Belle 
France ! Had he but the good fortune to have stayed 
there and finished his education, then he might have 
gone to Paris, seen the king and the court, danced at 
balls and masquerades, fought in the king’s wars, and 
won renown and glory. Well — perhaps, one day. Who 
could tell ? 

When his father was at home things were better. 
He would tell himself he was glad to have come to 
Geneva with him. Th::;y used to walk together on the 
Crets, or go together to the cercles frequented by the 
French exiles, to hear the news of the day, which meant 
for them the news of the progress of Protestantism ; and 
the father used to witness with pleasure the feats of the 
son in the games on the Plain-palais. 

Germain de Caulaincourt was one of the fifty 
prominent French exiles who about this time had the 
freedom of the city of Geneva conferred upon them. 
His work was approved, and he grew more and more to 
love and to delight in it. It developed in him powers 
and capacities of which he had never known before. 
‘ God is making me fruitful in the land of my exile,’ he 
often thought with thankfulness. 

A long absence of his in early spring did not prove 
104 


A Disaster and an Appeal 

a happy tiaie to his son. Hitherto, in the school, 
Norbert had been looked on rather indulgently. He 
\‘as thought younger than he really was; no serious 
wrong-doings were suspected in the gentle-looking boy 
with the beautiful girlish face. Every one was surprised 
when ‘ M. de Caulaincourt’s child,’ as they called him, 
fell into a rather serious scrape. Disputing with another 
lad over a game of chance, in itself unlawful, he lost his 
temper, and swore by the sacred Name, which in France 
he had been wont to hear too lightly used. This being 
overheard and reported to the dizainier of his quarter, 
he was called up for punishment, not in the school, but 
before a magistrate. 

According to the new law of Geneva, the profane 
swearer, for the first offence, had to pay a small fine and 
to ask pardon publicly of God and the city, kneeling 
and kissing the ground. Norbert offered to pay the 
fine, selling for the purpose one of his school books, but 
he positively refused to perform the amende honorable. 
Having heard that a second offence would be punished 
by a day's imprisonment, he committed it on the 
spot, by swearing that he would never submit to such 
degradation. He earned thereby twenty-four long 
hours — very long hours indeed — in the thick darkness 
of an underground cell of the Ev^ch6. Nor would he 
have been released even then, as his insolence was an 
added offence, but for the compassion felt for the ‘ poor 
child,’ whose father was even then perilling his life for 
the cause of the Gospel in Savoy. He was sent back to 
school, with an injunction to the authorities to keep a 
strict eye upon him ; which they did, reporting as the 
result of their observation that he showed not the 
105 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

slightest interest in spiritual exercises, that his school 
work was carelessly done, that his temper was violent, 
and that more than once he had ‘ fought with fists,* the 
old Genevan method of settling disputes, which was 
strongly discouraged in the new Geneva. 

At last the winter passed away, and the earth 
entered again into the possession of her golden heritage 
of spring. Norbert, quite unconsciously to himself, felt 
the influence of the time. One bright April afternoon 
he came bounding home from school as if he thought 
the world, and even the world of Geneva, no bad place 
to live in. 

Antoine Calvin stood at his own door in earnest 
conversation with three others — Pastor Poupin, Ami 
Berthelier, and a blue-coated messenger from the town 
council. Norbert felt a sudden chill, for the certainty 
came upon him that they were talking about him. 
What had they found out now? he began to ask a 
conscience that was not too clear — his fight with Jean 
Amblarde, his breaking Syndic Ambard’s window, his 
surreptitious meetings with that profligate young 
libertine, Ami Perrin ? Something, surely, for as he 
drew near the pastor looked at him mournfully, and 
Berthelier and Antoine Calvin whispered together. 
They did not look angry, only sad and perplexed. He 
heard Antoine say — 

‘ Do it you. Master Berthelier, I cannot.* 

He turned into his own house. Poupin went with 
him, and the messenger withdrew. 

‘ Come with me,’ said Berthelier to Norbert. 

He obeyed, wondering. Gabrielle was in the room 
they entered, but withdrew at a sign from her father. 
io6 


A Disaster and an Appeal 

Berthelier leant against the mantel-shelf, and turned 
his face away. 

‘ What is it, sir ? ’ asked Norbert, beginning for the 
first time to forebode something worse than blame for a 
boyish fault. Then, with a sudden thrill of terror, ‘ Is it 
— my father } * 

* Yes, my poor boy.' 

* What ? Oh, what ? ' Norbert asked, breathless. 

‘ What was too likely. What we feared.' 

* He is not — dead ? ’ 

‘ Nay, he is a prisoner.' 

* Ah ! there is hope, then ? ' 

‘ I dare say not so. Be a man, Norbert, and face the 
truth. That is best, is it not ? ’ 

Norbert’s lips just breathed a ‘Yes.' Then, rallying 
himself — 

‘ How do you know ? Who told you ? Perhaps — 
perhaps it is not true.? ' 

Berthelier shook his head. ‘ A Grey-foot, from 
beyond the Liberties, going on his own business to 
Chamb^ry, saw him bound, on a horse, in the midst of a 
band of armed men, who wore the colours of the Count 
of Lormayeur.' 

A cry of despair broke from Norbert. He knew the 
fate of heretics who fell into the hands of the cruel and 
fanatical nobles of Savoy. And he knew the Count 
of Lormayeur as the most cruel and most fanatical of 
them all. 

Berthelier's kind hand was on his shoulder. ‘Be 
brave, my son. Bear it — as he would have you.' 

‘I can't!' cried Norbert. ‘Were it death even, 
death in battle ; that is fair — one is bound to face it, 
107 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

But this — the torture, the ignominy — Oh God ! ’ — tlu’ 
boy’s voice rose to a cry of passion. ‘Why did we ever 
come to this hateful place, when men are sent forth for 
such things ? ’ 

‘God has little to do with it, to my thinking,’ said 
Berthelier bitterly. ‘ ’Tis breath wasted to cry to Him, 
or to complain. There is no help, but there is still 
patience. Tliat is a hard lesson, specially for the young, 
like thee. But think, thy father would have thee learn 
it. He would be proud to see thee bear thy sorrow as a 
brave man should.’ 

There was a pause ; then Norbert broke out 
impetuously — 

‘ I will not bear it ! I will have justice ! ’ 

‘Justice, poor boy? Thou wilt have to go far to 
get that’ 

‘ I will go — I will appeal — I will pray, on bended 
knees, with strong crying and tears.’ 

‘ To whom ? To the Savoyard } Thou canst not 
reach him. And if thou couldest, such as he will only 
accept one ransom for a heretic — a ransom none can pay 
save himself, and thy father would account it far too 
high. To the syndics or the council ? They are 
powerless as ourselves.’ 

‘ One man rules them all.* 

‘ But his power ceases at the Pont de L’Arve. 
Norbert — Norbert ! What wouldest thou ? Whither 
goest ? ’ 

For Norbert turned quickly, dashed down the 
stairs, and was in the street before Berthelier finished 
speaking. 

One man had done it all. One man reigned over 
io8 


A Disaster and an Appeal 

Geneva, and sent his father out to suffer and to die. 
Norbert, in his boyish heart, believed that man 
omnipotent. He was destiny, fate — stern, strong, 
resistless, all-conquering fate. Let him save his father 
now ! 

All Norbert’s fear of him was gone. An hour ago, 
had the great man spoken to him, he would scarce have 
dared to answer. Now he only longed to see him face 
to face, and pour forth all his soul. 

He flew down the Rue Cornavin, across the bridge, 
by the Rue de La Cit^ and the Grande Rue into the 
Rue des Chanoines. His knock at the well-known door 
was answered by a female servant, who told him every 
one knew Master Calvin was in the Franciscan Hall, 
delivering his lecture to the students of theology. Two 
minutes more brought Norbert to the old Franciscan 
monastery behind the cathedral, up the nearest staircase, 
to one of the closed doors of the vast pillared hall where 
the Great Council of Geneva was wont to meet. Now, 
instead of eager voices and tumultuous interruptions, one 
calm, even, unimpassioned voice reached his ear. He 
pushed the door gently, it yielded to his touch, and he 
went in. 

Any wild thoughts of interrupting the speaker died 
in him instantly, slain by the spirit of the place. The 
great hall was crammed, each manly face turned to the 
chair at the upper end, and the slight dark figure with 
upraised hand, and lips from which issued the words 
that were as a sentence of life or death. For John 
Calvin, in his luminous style, and with his matchless 
command of his native French, was expounding the 
doctrine of Justification by Faith. To the strong 
*09 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

deep-hearted men who listened, this was a question of 
life or death, the question of all others. ‘ How shall 
I stand acquitted before the bar of the living God ? * 
each one had asked himself, and each one was hearing 
the answer now. 

Norbert, though he could not listen, was awed into 
silence. The speaker held him like a hound in leash, 
hating the bond, yet unable to break it, for the master’s 
hand was there. But his eyes were free, and they took 
note of things with which the brain had no concern. On 
a window near him was a great grey spider with a 
hapless fly in his web. No, he would not look at that — 
it was too horribly suggestive. A student just before 
him had his wide sleeve all torn, and the notes he had 
put into it dropping out one by one. Another wore 
spectacles, just like a notary or a doctor — what could a 
young fellow like that want with spectacles ? Not that 
all were young ; yonder tall, stout man looked forty at 
least. And there was one with his beard absolutely 
grey ; while another was as bald as old Fl^chier, who 
taught Latin in the school. Most, however, were young 
men in the very prime and vigour of their strength. But 
who was that little red-haired man, with the bold look 
and the burning eyes, honoured with a chair by Master 
Calvin himself, as a visitor of distinction ? Oh, of course 
that was Master William Farel, come from Neufchitel, 
where he was pastor, to visit his dear friend Master 
Calvin. 

But the lecture was over at last. All stood up for 
the concluding prayer and blessing. Then, from the 
different doors the crowd poured out. Not noisily, as 
students might to-day in reaction after the strain of a 

tio 


A Disaster and an Appeal 

long attention, but gravely, thoughtfully, as if the voice 
they had been hearing was still sounding in their ears. 

Norbert pushed his way up the hall, and stood — 
realizing with angry impatience that he might have to 
stand a long time. For a dense, eager throng pressed 
round Calvin. Every one wanted something of him, 
were it but the answer to a question, a word of greeting, 
a handshake. 

‘Will they keep him for ever?’ thought Norbert. 
He seemed to himself to be standing still — yet gradually 
he was moving nearer, near enough at last to hear a 
boy, a schoolmate of his own, implore the master with 
passionate words to send him — him also — to France to 
preach the Word of God. 

‘My son, thou art too young. Two, or perchance 
three years more of preparation are needful for thee,’ 
said the calm, impassive voice. 

One eager forward thrust, and Norbert had dispersed 
the loiterers between ; indeed, they gave way before him. 
He stood face to face with the master, his own face 
white, and his eyes wild. 

‘ Oh, sir,’ he cried, ‘ send him not / Send no more 
forth to die ! ’ 

John Calvin looked at him in calm surprise. ‘ Collect 
thyself, young man, and speak soberly,’ he said. ‘ Who 
art thou ? ’ 

‘ I am Norbert de Caulaincourt, and my father lies 
in a Savoyard dungeon. Oh, sir, you can do everything. 
Help him, for God’s sake ! ’ 

‘ I know already what has happened, and I regret it 
I hold M. de Caulaincourt in high esteem.’ 

The measured words fell like ice on the heart of 


111 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

Norbert. He asked for bread, and the autocrat ot 
Geneva offered him a stone. He stood motionless, in 
bitter pain, gazing into the inscrutable face. But 
presently he saw something there, just the shadow of a 
shade, which moved him to throw himself at the great 
man*s feet with a passionate cry. 

‘ Oh, sir, have pity ! have pity ! your word is law — 
you do what you will — surely you can save him ? * 

* Am I in the place of God, to kill and to make 
alive? Norbert de Caulaincourt, wherefore kneelest 
thou to me ? I can do nothing in this matter.’ 

Norbert rose up — it was no use in kneeling to this 
man. Then in his anguish the boy said a desperate 
thing, scarce any man in Geneva would have dared. 

‘ Were you not in God’s place to kill, when you sent 
him forth for this f ’ 

For a moment Calvin did not answer. Then he said 
very calmly, even coldly — 

‘ I sent him not. He went forth at his own desire, 
that God’s will might be done by, and in, him. To 
that will, Norbert de Caulaincourt, thou and I and he 
must bow. There is nothing else. Go home ; pray for 
thy father and thyself.’ 

Without another word Norbert turned and walked 
away. A cold, numb despair had him in its grasp. 
There was no help for him in Master Calvin, and no 
comfort. What, to the great man, was his father’s peril, 
his own anguish ? Only what the soldier’s fall might be 
to the captain — perhaps not so much. 

As he went home he thought sadly, ‘Is there 
anything I can do ? ’ But the only possible answer was 
‘ Nothing.’ To go into Savoy in the hope of seeing his 
112 



OH, SIR, HAVE PITY, HAVE PITY! 





A Disaster and an Appeal 

father would be simply an act of insanity. He must 
stay where he was, and suffer, and eat his heart out. 

Thus dreary days passed on, until the desperate 
pain in a measure wore itself out, and a kind of lethargy 
began to steal over him. 


CHAPTER X 

A GLEAM OF LIGHT 

‘There is asked 
A ransom far too high.* 

A ll Geneva was moved with sorrow and sympathy 
for De Caulaincourt and anxiety about his fate. 
But presently even this was driven into the 
background by public events of a very important nature. 
The Libertine party, after several defeats still strong 
and daring, raised its head again and challenged a 
decisive conflict for the possession of Geneva. The 
special ‘ foot of ground ’ they chose to contest was the 
admission of the French exiles to the privileges of 
citizenship. These exiles were religious men, and 
warm friends of Calvin, himself a Frenchman. So the 
Libertines raised the cry, ‘Geneva for the Genevans,’ 
and tried to persuade the people that the ambitious 
preacher intended, by means of his countrymen, to get 
the whole power into his hands, crush the old citizens, 
and rule as a despot. This at least was plausible. But 
to the ‘baser sort,’ especially to the fishermen and 
boatmen of the lake, they told another tale. Calvin and 
his French, they said, were plotting to deliver up the 
city to the King of France, and thus deprive the citizens 
114 


A Gleam of Light 

of their ancient liberties. Seeing that the first act of 
the King of France, if he got the city, would have been 
to burn the French exiles every one, this did not seem 
a likely story ; yet it gained credence enough to cost a 
night of terror, during which the streets were paraded 
by armed bands of disorderly Libertines, and mobs of 
fishermen with arquebuses, crying, ‘ Kill ! kill ! Death 
to the Frangillions — to the Porte-Francais ! ’ as they 
called the exiles and their friends. Happily, these all 
remained quietly within doors, so the rioters found no 
one to kill. 

But this was open sedition. It showed that the foes 
of order must be dealt with decisively, else the new 
Geneva would be split into fragments, and no man’s life 
would be safe in it Some of the Libertine leaders, 
especially Philibert Berthelier and Ami Perrin, escaped 
to Bernese territory ; but Daniel Berthelier, two brothers 
named Comparet, and others of less note, were arrested 
and imprisoned. 

Ami Berthelier held himself aloof from the whole 
affair. Though not quite in sympathy with the new 
rigime, he was still less so with his own kinsfolk, 
whose projects, if successful, would lead, he thought, to 
anarchy. Still, when party feeling ran so high, he 
could scarcely hope that one of his name would escape 
suspicion ; nor would it have surprised him, at any 
moment, to find himself arrested on some charge or 
other and lodged in the Evech6. 

Norbert, having nothing else to do, had gone to 
school again. He told himself he was as well, or as ill, 
there as anywhere else. It is true he did little, but 
then he had never done very much. And at this time 

115 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

all the office-bearers, from the rector to the dizainier of 
his class, were very lenient with him : they knew the 
bitterness of his soul. 

The days wore slowly on. At last, one afternoon 
in May, on coming out of the school, he noticed an 
unusual concourse in the street. All were gazing at 
a burly horseman with a trumpet at his side, and a pole 
with a white pennon attached to his stirrup. 

Norbert looked because the others did, but without 
interest, until some one called out, ‘ A Lormayeur I * 

‘ What say you ? ’ he cried, eager enough now. 

‘Look at the badge in his cap — holly for Savoy, 
broom for the Counts of Lormayeur. This means a 
parley, and tidings. Let us follow him to the Town Hall, 
and hear.’ 

When they got there they heard that the Little 
Council was then actually in session (a thing unusual 
in the afternoon), and the trumpeter was at once 
admitted to an audience. 

Many hinds were stretched out for his reins 
when he flung them down, but Norbert seized them 
first. 

‘ I pray you, sir,’ said he, * know you aught of my 
father, the Sieur de Caulaincourt, a prisoner ? ’ 

‘ Ay, do I, young master. ’Tis about his ransom I 
am here.’ 

Norbert’s heart leaped within him. He cried aloud 
with his sudden joy. 

‘And how does he fare?* he added hastily; but 
there was no time to answer. Already a messenger of 
the council was hurrying the trumpeter in, and bidding 
the bystanders take care of his horse. 

li6 


A Gleam of Light 

Still, Norbert had heard enough. That word 
* ransom * sounded in his ears like the sweetest of 
melodies. It meant hope of deliverance ; it meant, 
even now, gentle and honourable treatment — that of 
a prisoner of war, instead of that of a condemned 
heretic. 

True, there was a question behind — where was the 
ransom to come from ? It might prove — it was likely 
to prove — a very perplexing question indeed. But it 
did not trouble him yet. 

Another official came out, a clerk with spectacles 
and a pen behind his ear. 

‘Take that horse to the Wild Man,* he said; ‘his 
master will follow presently.* 

Norbert sprang upon the clerk with eager questions, 
to be waived off in summary fashion. 

‘ I am under oath. I can say nothing. You will 
know all in due time.’ 

‘Come away, Norbert,’ said two other lads. ‘No 
use in waiting. We may cool our feet here for hours 
before the council thinks fit to break up!’ But -till 
Norbert lingered, unable to tear himself from the 
spot. 

In about half an hour the clerk came forth again. 
Seeing Norbert waiting at the door, he said — 

‘ I think you lodge near the dwelling of Master Ami 
Berthelier. Will you go and fetch him ? ’ 

‘ I will, sir,’ cried Norbert, eagerly. ‘ Is there a letter 
for him ? May I take it ? ’ 

‘ No ; fetch him hither as quickly as thou canst.’ 

Norbert flew to the Rue Cornavm, and told his 
errand breathlessly. 

117 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

* Oh, sir, make haste ! * he said ; * there is news of my 
father.* 

A summons from the Little Council would not in 
itself have surprised Berthelier, who lived, as we know, 
in the expectation of being denounced by somebody as 
an enemy to the commonwealth. But a summons in 
connection with the messenger of Lormayeur ! — What 
could that possibly mean ? Whatever it meant, he 
must do all right and fitting honour to their 
worthinesses of the Town Council. So he put on his 
gown of broadcloth and his furred bonnet, and hung 
by his side the ancient sword he had never once had 
the chance of using. 

‘ I am with you,’ he said to Norbert. 

With much difficulty the eager boy adapted his 
pace to the lame man’s lagging footsteps. To him the 
time seemed endless till they reached the hall. Then 
he was told he might go home, which he did not do, 
and Berthelier was ushered at once into the presence of 
the twenty-five. 

He bowed, removed his bonnet, and stood before 
them in respectful silence, awaiting their pleasure. 

There, at the great table with the covering of green 
cloth, sat the four syndics and the rest, all well-known 
to him by face and name. They wore their hats and 
were dressed very plainly and soberly, but in robes of 
good broadcloth. Each of the syndics had his black 
baton of office laid on the table before him. They 
looked like a company of honest, but hard and stern, 
perhaps narrow-minded men. The thought came to 
Berthelier, as he waited there, that it had been the 
dream of his youth that such men as these should rule 
Ii8 




A PERSON IN A NOTARY’S ROBE BEGAN TO READ 



A Gleam of Light 

his Geneva, in place of the haughty duke and the 
dissolute prince-bishop. His dream had come true ; 
but was Geneva the better for it, after all ? 

‘Be seated, Master Berthelier,’ said the first syndic, 
addressing him in terms of unlooked-for courtesy. 

‘ This is a fairer beginning than I expected,’ thought 
Berthelier, as he took the offered seat. 

*We have sent for you,’ continued the syndic, by 
name Amblarde Come, ‘because of a communication 
which we have just received from the Count of 
Lormayeur.’. 

Berthelier looked the astonishment he felt. 

‘The notary will explain,’ continued the syndic 

A person in a notary’s robe stood up at the end of 
the table and began to read. ‘Philip Manuel Joseph, 
by the grace of God, Count of Lormayeur ; ’ thus began 
the letter which the haughty Savoyard had so far 
demeaned himself as to address to the heretics of 
Geneva. A string of other titles followed, with a curt 
commendation to ‘Them of Geneva,’ as of one who 
strained a point to observe the barest rules of courtesy. 
But the next words were of thrilling interest. The 
count condescended to inform the Genevans that he had 
in ward one Germain de Caulaincourt, a Frenchman by 
birth, but a citizen of Geneva. This ill-advised person 
had been found upon the count’s estate, disseminating 
heretical doctrines, and thus laying himself open to 
condign punishment Two others of Genevan birth 
were in the prisons of the count, a certain Jacques de 
Maisonneuve, or Baudichon, supposed to be a cadet of 
an honourable house, and Jean Ardenot, companion 
of the Guild of Bonnet-makers. These also, as heretics, 
119 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

were liable to summary justice. But the count in his 
clemency was willing to regard all these as prisoners 
of war, and put them to fair exchange and ransom. 

Here the notary paused, and Berthelier, much rejoiced, 
could not help saying — 

* Good ! We will give to the last denier, and so 
will all the Frenchmen, for the ransom of M. de 
Caulaincourt. Maisonneuve will take care of his 
kinsman, and the bonnet-makers will see to their 
companion.* 

‘ Patience, friend,’ the first syndic said gravely. 
‘It is not money that is wanted. Master Notary, 
read on.’ 

The notary bowed. ‘There is at present,’ he 
continued, ‘there is at present in your city a young 
lady, a kinswoman of the count, whose person his 
excellency desires to recover ’ — here Berthelier suddenly 
raised his head, with a look at the notary that 
disconcerted him visibly — ‘ desires to recover,* he 
repeated, then rallying himself went on, ‘ since of right 
she is his ward, and should be under his guardianship, 
that she may be educated suitably, and in honourable 
fashion, and placed in the possession of the estates that 
are her rightful inheritance.’ More followed, enveloped 
in many high-sounding words. But the meaning of all 
was abundantly clear. ‘Give me the young lady, and 
you shall have your three heretics safe and sound. I 
offer you Germain Caulaincourt, Jacques de Maisonneuve, 
and Jean Ardenot, in exchange for the Demoiselle 
Castelar, who goes amongst you by the name of 
Gabrielle Berthelier.’ 

Ami Berthelier spoke no word, uttered no ciy, 
120 


A Gleam of Light 

but he looked what he was — a man stabbed to the 
heart 

One of the council, who sat where he could see 
his face, interposed from an impulse of compassion. 

‘We will do nothing rashly. This story has yet 
to be proved.* 

‘And if it were,* said another, ‘how is the count 
to make sure that we do not palm off on him some 
peasant girl, get our men back, and laugh in his 
face ? * 

‘The men of Geneva deal fairly,* said the first 
syndic, in a tone of grave reproof. ‘And the count, 
of course, will take due precautions. Go on. Master 
Notary.’ 

The rest of the count’s letter, stripped of verbiage 
and circumlocution, contained the following facts — the 
child, Olive de Castelar, was stolen from her parents 
by her nurse, at the instigation of the devil, and of the 
rascally kinsman who hoped to inherit if they died 
childless. The nurse, one Josephine Mendol, passed 
her on for better concealment to her sister, the wife of 
a well-to-do peasant, named Robinet She then induced 
this Robinet to come to Geneva, and they were lodging 
in one of the suburban houses which were destroyed by 
the citizens on account of the threatened Savoyard 
invasion. She lost sight of them after that, and did 
not hear until long afterwards that they both died of 
the plague, but that the child was living, and had been 
adopted by a citizen of Geneva. All these things, 
being stricken with remorse, she had revealed on her 
death-bed to her confessor, charging him to make them 
known to the relations of the child. 

I2I 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

‘A fine story that!’ said another syndic, named 
Bonna. 'But I pray you, how does it prove that 
the citizen who adopted the child was Master Ami 
Berthelier, here present before us ? ’ 

‘There is more,’ said the notary, who had been 
scanning the paper carefully, and wishing the count 
had employed a secretary who wrote a clearer hand, 
and a style less burdened with Savoyard idioms. 

' Let us have it all,’ said the first syndic. 

'Some months ago,’ the notary continued, 'an old 
servant of the house of Castelar, ignorant of these facts, 
being in town upon his own affairs, and under safe 
conduct, saw the young lady, and was struck by her 
likeness to her mother, whom he well remembered, 
though she is long dead. He inquired of the townsfolk, 
and learned that she was the adopted daughter of 
Master Ami Berthelier. That is not all. The traitorous 
nurse, it appears, did not wish all record of the child’s 
parentage to be lost. What was strange in a woman 
like that, of the baser sort, she could read and write, 
having learned these arts in the service of the lady of 
Castelar. She used her clerkship to write the child’s 
real name, with the state and quality of her parents, 
enclosing the said writing in a little bag, which she 
hung round the child’s neck, calling it a charm.’ The 
notary laid down the paper and took off his spectacles. 

' Master Berthelier,’ asked the first syndic, very 
courteously, ' have you any knowledge of this paper ? ’ 

Berthelier cleared his throat, though his voice was 
still husky, and sounded to himself a great way off. 

' I do know it,’ he said ; ' it was lost — as I believed 
destroyed. But some weeks ago I found it again. It 
122 


A Gleam of Light 

is all as you say.’ The last words were a hoarse 
whisper. 

‘You must see, Master Berthelier,* Amblarde Come 
resumed gravely, ‘ we have no choice left us. We must 
give her up.’ 

‘ Not so bad as it might be,’ a member of the council 
threw in. ‘The maiden goes to her kindred and her 
friends. Perhaps also to a fair inheritance.’ 

‘ But you forget,’ said the third Syndic Aubert, well 
known as an excellent apothecary and a most zealous 
Protestant. ‘You forget we are thrusting the poor 
child’s soul into deadly peril. They will make a Papist 
of her.’ 

‘ Please you, my masters,’ said the notary. ‘ There 
is here a sort or manner of post scriptum, which I did 
not observe before.’ 

‘ Read it,’ said several voices together. 

*The count, in his clemency, is pleased to take into 
consideration the regrettable fact that the young lady, 
through no fault of her own, hath been nourished and 
brought up hitherto in the pernicious doctrines’ — so 
he says, my masters, I am bound to read his words as 
they stand written — ‘ in the pernicious doctrines of the 
pretended Reformed, and he desires to assure her 
present guardians that no restraint will be put upon 
her in the matter of religion. Also, he thanks them 
for their good offices towards her, which upon due 
occasion he holds himself bound to requite.’ 

‘Fine words!’ said Aubert. ‘How much are they 
to be trusted ? ’ 

‘An’ it please your worthiness, I have somewhat 
to say/ The speaker was a little insignificant-looking 
123 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

man with a squint. But he was of some weight in the 
town ; besides being a member of council he was Prior 
of the Honourable Guild of the Tailors. ‘I know 
the Count of Lormayeur very well. Indeed, I may 
say, after a fashion of speech, “ I have taken his 
measure.” ’ 

In more ways than one. Master Pradel,* said the 
youngest of the councillors, and one or two grave faces 
relaxed a little. Pradel’s renown in his craft extended 
to Savoy, and he had gone more than once, under 
proper safe conduct, to the Castle of Lormayeur, to 
place his skill at the service of its lord. 

‘ I know the count,’ he resumed. * He is like all 
the rest of them — self first, the pope second, the duke 
his liege lord third and last — all else, nowhere. When 
I say self, I mean gold and lands for self. Depend 
upon it, this is at bottom an affair of these. He 
wants the maiden for some purpose that will bring 
them into his net. That purpose served, he will care 
for nought about herself or her religion, one way or the 
other.’ 

There was a pause, then Syndic Come said gravely : 
‘Our duty is clear. Yet the matter should be voted 
upon, in due course and order. Master Bonna, my 
honoured colleague, what say you ’ 

Syndic Bonna’s mind was quite made up, as indeed 
was that of every one else. But he could not record 
his vote with Berthelier’s eyes of anguish fixed upon 
his face. 

‘ I move,’ he said, ‘that Master Berthelier be requested 
to withdraw.’ 

Without waiting for more, Berthelier rose silently 
124 


A Gleam of Light 

and retired to the ante-chamber. Syndic Bonna was 
right, no man should be present while the votes are 
taken upon his own death-sentence. He went over 
to the window, leant against it and looked out upon 
the street. A wave of agony swept over him, such as he 
had not known for years, such as he never thought to 
know again. Chords which had seemed broken for 
ever in the storm that wrecked his youth thrilled now 
with exquisite pain. Once more he had let himself 
love, and the power to love is the power to suffer. 
So the child — his child by every tie and claim, save 
that of birth — must go from him, and for ever! 
Were it but for her good, he could have borne it. But 
that she, the child of Geneva, the child of that new 
Faith which had such mysterious power to grasp and 
hold the souls it touched, should be flung into the midst 
of that cruel Papist crew — the thought was intolerable 1 
A lily amongst thorns — she would be torn and tortured, 
perhaps done to death amongst them. He would not 
have it! He would refuse to give her up, and take the 
consequences. He would defy the syndics, the council, 
the whole city — what did he care for them all ? 

Ay, but then — were there not those behind for 
whom he did care ? Would he choose, even if he could, 
to give up his noble friend De Caulaincourt, not to 
speak of the other two, to a death of lingering torture } 
His love for him, strengthened by every claim of 
justice and of right, surged back upon his heart, and 
forbade the thought. Impossible to abandon him — 
and yet, oh, how impossible to consent to that other 
thing! He felt like a wild beast in a net, unable to 
struggle, unable even to move, able only to suffer, 

125 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

The notary stood at the door. * Master Berthelier, 
the honourable council desires your presence.* 

He obeyed, and stood before the council as a man 
might stand awaiting his death sentence. 

The first syndic addressed him mildly, with courteous 
intonation. ‘You must see for yourself, respectable 
Master Berthelier, that there is no choice left us in this 
matter. These three worthy citizens must be saved. 
Therefore, we accept the terms of the Count of 
Lormayeur. And since they are no doubt pining in 
his dungeons all this time upon scanty pittance of bread 
and water, it is our unanimous opinion that what must 
be done should be done quickly. Therefore we require 
of you, upon yoqr oath and your duty as a citizen, to 
hold the maiden known and designated as Gabrielle 
Berthelier ready in three days’ time for honourable 
exchange against Germain de Caulaincourt, Jacques 
Baudichon, and Jean Ardenot. I pray you. Master 
Berthelier, if you have anything to say, speak freely; 
we shall hear you with all indulgence.’ 

‘I have nothing to say. I obey the honourable 
council,’ said Berthelier, hoarsely. He turned to 
go ; then, remembering that these men represented 
Geneva, turned again, made his ‘reverence,’ and passed 
out. 

At the door Norbert sprang upon him demanding 
news. 

‘ He is saved,’ said Berthelier. 

‘ But how — how ? Tell me all I ’ Norbert cried. ‘ Is 
it by ransom ? * 

‘Yes, by a great ransom.* 

‘ How much ? ’ 


126 


A Gleam of Light 

‘Ask me no more. And I pray thee, let me go 
home alone.* 

He waved off the boy, who would have given him 
his arm, and who stood waiting, his joy dashed with 
awe, as the old man passed slowly and wearily down 
the street 


127 


CHAPTER XI 

IS THERE ANY HELP? 

‘The star of the unconquered will. 

It rises in my breast, 

Serene and passionless and still, 

And calm and self-possessed/ 

Longfellow, 

T hat night, in the house of Berthelier, no eye closed 
in sleep. Through its long hours four hearts 
wrestled sore, in conflict or in prayer, each one 
alone with God. No joy came in the morning; and 
yet perhaps there came to each a little of that rest, 
of that vision of an end to pain, which with great 
sufferers sometimes takes the place of joy. 

Claudine and Marguerite had the same thought. 
Each resolved to go with ‘ the child ’ to the land of the 
stranger; Marguerite because she had nursed her; 
Claudine, with better reason, because being a Catholic 
at heart, she had nothing to fear from the Savoyards, 
and might perhaps smooth matters for Gabrielle. 

Berthelier’s comfort was less than theirs, in so far as 
it only touched himself. ‘ When there is nothing left to 
live for,’ thought he, ‘a man can always die.’ Why 
not ? Who could blame him, if only he made suitable 
provision for his sister and his old servant? He was 
128 


Is there any Help ? 

free to take leave, when he would, of this new Geneva, 
in which he had neither part nor lot. It was what any 
of the great men of antiquity, whom he admired and 
wished to copy, would have done in his place. 

As was meet and right, the strongest comfort was 
given to the sorest need. Child of Geneva, child of the 
Reformation as she was, every fibre of Gabrielle’s heart 
clung round her home. All she knew and loved was 
there — or had been there. At first the blow, so sudden 
and so strange, stunned and bewildered her, but the 
power to feel all its bitterness came back only too 
soon. Happily, one relief was not denied her ; when 
the first overwhelming shock was over, she could weep. 
At first she wept wildly, passionately, then in a restrained, 
quiet way, the quieter for Claudine’s sake, whose couch 
she shared. 

At last, in the tearless exhaustion that followed the 
long weeping, a light half slumber stole over her. Louis 
de Marsac stood beside her, holding in his hand a ‘flute’ 
or long narrow glass filled with wine. ‘Maiden,’ he 
said, ‘wilt thou drink in this glass with me?’ So in 
old Geneva troth was wont to be pledged ; but those 
two, who knew each other’s hearts, had exchanged no 
troth pledge. In her dream she answered steadily, ‘ I 
will,’ and put forth her hand to take the glass. The 
action woke her. She came to herself, and knew that 
the proffered draught was no earthly vintage, but the 
sharp, strong wine of martyrdom. A great awe stole 
over her, and with it a great calm. 

‘Strength came to her that answered her desire.* 

It was morning now. She arose, bathed her face, 
129 I 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

dressed herself noiselessly, so as not to wake Claudine, 
who was dozing, and went into the other room. 
Berthelier and Marguerite were there already, in earnest 
conversation. 

‘You must let me go, or my heart will break/ 
pleaded the old servant, her hand on her master’s 
arm. 

‘ Though your heart break, I cannot,’ was the 
answer. ‘ I give you a month to bring yourself to the 
stake, and the poor child under fatal suspicion. ’Twould 
be enough to ruin her with these Savoyards, to have as 
her attendant a red-hot Calvinist like thee.’ Then more 
gently, * Thou dost believe in prayer. Pray for her ; 
’tis all thou canst.’ 

Then Gabrielle stood before them, pale and weary- 
eyed. But the morning greetings were spoken firmly, 
with a kiss for her father, and a faint, watery smile for 
Marguerite, who turned her face away, and quietly left 
the room. 

‘Father,* she said, sitting down beside him, ‘you 
must not grieve over this too much.’ 

He woke the manhood in himself to speak to her 
bravely. 

‘ I know they will be kind to thee,’ he said. ‘ And 
thou wilt be rich, be honoured, be beloved — though never, 
I think, as we love thee here. Poor Marguerite has 
been pleading to go with thee. But it is best, hard 
though it sounds, that thou shouldest go alone.’ 

‘ I do not go alone, my father. Did those go alone 
who have gone to France to preach the Gospel ? ’ 

‘ Child, I know thy thought ; and I am glad it 
comforts thee. But, Gabrielle, in that Catholic country 
130 


Is there any Help ? 

thou must be very wise, very wary. Keep strong guard 
over thy words and acts, thy thoughts even. Remember 
the command, “ Be ye wise as serpents.” ’ 

*Do not fear. I shall not seek martyrdom. If 
there be divers ways to choose from, all leading home, 
naturally one chooses the easiest.' 

To Berthelier these words seemed reassuring. He 
did not know the depth and intensity of Gabrielle’s 
religious convictions, so he hoped she would bend to 
circumstances, as in his opinion she might do very 
lawfully. He was glad now that he had placed her in 
her childhood under the tutelage of his sister. 

* To get home is all one wants,' she went on. * And 
I think I shall get there soon.’ 

* My little girl, what wouldest thou say ? ' 

‘ What I cannot make quite clear to you, or to any 
one. But I do not think God will leave me in the land 
of the stranger. He knows I could not bear it. If He 
means me to die for Him — like so many girls and 
women, as well as men — He will strengthen me. Still 
I don’t think it will come to that. He has other ways 
— I feel as if no hand would touch me save His own, 
which does not hurt. And then there will be Home, 
even better than Geneva. You, too, father, you will 
come there ere long.’ 

‘Yes, my child, ere long,' said Berthelier, much 
moved. There was silence, for he would not shadow 
the child’s simple faith, even by a word. At last he 
spoke again. ‘Tell me aught I may do for thee, 
Gabrielle.' 

* We have two days yet, father. I want to choose 
gifts for the friends and neighbours, and to bid them 

131 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

all good-bye. You must have my little French 
Testament. My Bible I take, of course. For Aunt 
Claudine and Marguerite, I must think — and oh, 
father, one thing more ! ’ 

‘ What is it, dear heart ? * 

‘ It is about Norbert, poor Norbert, who loves us so 
well. He will be breaking his heart because all this 
is for his father, chiefly. I pray you, go to him and 
comfort him. Were it not well to bring him in here 
for his morning soup ? ’Tis a holiday, methinks, at the 
school’ 

‘ I will go to him,’ said Berthelier, soothed by the 
thought of doing something for her. 

But as he rose. Marguerite with a scared face 
appeared at the door. 

‘ Master, come here,’ she said. 

They followed her into the sleeping-room, to find 
Claudine on the floor in a swoon. She had tried to 
rise as usual ; but, already in frail health, the shock of 
the day before had proved too much for her. When 
she recovered consciousness, and had been helped into 
bed by her brother and Marguerite, she tried to 
reassure them. 

‘ There was nothing the matter,’ she said, ‘ save a 
passing weakness.’ They must go and take their 
morning soup, she would rest a little, and then have 
some also. 

But she looked so white that Berthelier said, when 
they left the room — 

I will go round to Master Aubert and pray him to 
visit her. Norbert, too, I can see and bring back with 
me.’ 


132 


Is there any Help ? 

He returned presently with the syndic apothecary 
Aubert, who did not think seriously of Damoiselle 
Claudine’s illness, though he gave her some very 
nauseous medicine, and told her to remain in bed. 
When he was gone, Berthelier said to Gabrielle — 

‘ I could not find Norbert. Last night Master 
Antoine told him all the matter as it was. Never a 
word did he say, but took up' his cap and went out. 
He has not returned since, nor been seen by any one. 
They are going to ask the Watch if he passed last night 
through any of the gates.’ 

*Poor boy !’ Gabrielle said pityingly. He was her 
own age, still he seemed to her as a younger brother — a 
child almost. But she had little time to think of him. 
Whether in spite of, or because of Syndic Aubert’s 
draught, Claudine, though not seriously ill, was ill 
enough to require constant attention. It was very 
evident that she, at all events, could not accompanj- 
the poor little exile. Gabrielle must go forth alone, 
and in the depths of her heart she felt it was 

better so. 

Meanwhile an inspiration had come to Berthelier. 

There was one thing, a thing of considerable 

importance, which he could still do for his child. It 
would be worse than useless to send a store of clothing 
or other personalities with her to Savoy; such things 
as she had been wont to use would be quite unsuited 
to her new position. But money ? Always and 

everywhere money was of use. Much of Gabrielle’s 
comfort, and especially her means of communication 
with her old friends, might depend on its possession. 
A capacious purse stored with good crowns, ‘well 

133 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

ringing and well weighing* would be her best servant 
in the land of the stranger. But how was he to get it, 
he whose modest income barely sufficed for the frugal 
needs of his household 

There was one way. Small love was lost between 
him and his distant cousin — distant in all ways — 
Philibert Berthelier, the leader of the Libertines. Still, 
Philibert remembered what Ami had suffered for his 
father’s sake, and knew also that he had lent him large 
sums of money which were never repaid. More than 
once he had told him, in his careless way, to come to 
him if he were ever in need of a handful of good 
crowns. Philibert’s own expenditure was lavish ; and 
reckless and dissipated though he was, he inherited 
something of his father’s bon-homie and good nature. 
Ami Berthelier had little doubt that he would help him 
in his need. A group of the banished Libertines, with 
Philibert and Perrin at their head, had established 
themselves in Pregny, which was in Bernese territory, 
but only a few miles from Geneva. Here they hoped, 
while quite safe themselves, to disturb the new regime 
and ferment discords in the town. All therefore that 
Ami Berthelier had to do was to hire a horse, ride to 
Pregny, explain his wishes to Philibert, and return by 
nightfall, bearing with him that ‘ golden load * which 
the Spaniards say ‘ is a burden light.’ He told no one 
the nature of his errand ; only saying he was obliged 
to be absent on important business, but would come 
back if possible that night, if not, the following 
morning. Gabrielle wondered secretly that any 
business should induce him to absent himself during 
so large a part of their last brief time together, but her 

134 


Is there any Help ? 

absolute trust in him kept her silent, if it could not 
keep her satisfied. 

Norbert de Caulaincourt spent his night on the 
Crets de Laurent, a rising ground inside the bastion 
near the Porte Neuve. To and fro, up and down, did 
he wander in that solitary place, trying to escape the 
pain that was tearing his heart in two. He was only 
sixteen, but if his love for Gabrielle was not all year.i 
might make it, if his heart was a boy’s heart, not a 
man's, at least it was a full heart. He gave all he had, 
and who can do more? That he also loved his father 
right well added bitterness to his pain. The thought 
that Gabrielle was being sacrificed for him tortured him 
like fire. 

Why had they ever left their native land, their own 
beautiful France ? Since coming to this strange, hard 
Geneva there had been nought but ill fortune. Would 
they had * wings like a dove,’ as the psalm said which 
they sang in school, to fly back to the old time, the old 
place — perhaps the old Faith — as to that he did not 
know. Whatever else might keep him faithful to the 
new, it would not any more be Master John Calvin. 
No help in him ! Never, never again would he go to 
him with prayer or plaint. He was iron — cold, hard, 
strong as adamant. He stood apart and calm, like 
some great general who sends his soldiers forth to die. 
He moved men as one moves the pawns on a 
chessboard. No player wants them taken, but if 
they are — what matter? 

He and all the rest would bid him pray. Doubtless 
they were praying now, for Gabrielle, for his father, and 
the others. To what use, if the Almighty — the Eternal, 

135 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

as they called Him here — were also like that? And 
who could doubt it? He was working out His own 
high purposes. They would prosper. They would 
sweep on like fire, or storm, or hurricane ; and all that 
came in their way was tow, and stubble, and dust. — 
What use in caring? What matter? If only he and 
his friends could all die together, and die without 
pain ! 

At last his thoughts began to wander, as thoughts 
will do even in the keenest anguish. Instead of 
present troubles, past pleasures came to him. His 
mind roved idly amongst fragmentary dreams and 
memories of the feasts, the dances, the masquerades 
his step-mother used to tell him of, and to which on a 
few rare, delightful occasions she had even taken him. 
Those masquerades — she had made him dress up for 
one of them as a girl. All at once a thought flashed 
like lightning through his brain, a thought wild, terrible, 
magnificent. With the glow and the glory of it he 
sprang to his feet, he cried aloud in that solitary 
place. 

Presently he sat down under a tree, and pondered. 
Could this thing be possible ? It was morning now. 
The glorious sun of May was shining on him through 
the scarce unfolded green of the young leaves He 
did not see it. So far as he was concerned, it might 
still have been midnight. 

Not until hours had passed did he rise up to return 
to the town.^ Little of the outside world though 
his senses took in, he gave one long earnest look 
to the majestic sight that had drawn his eyes and 
his heart when he trod first on Genevan soil — Mont 

136 


Is there any Help ? 

Blanc in all his glory. He had called it then ‘The 
Great White Throne.’ Should he stand soon before a 
greater ? 

He turned away, and went on, presently noting 
near the path a little pool. He went aside and gazed 
long and earnestly into its depths ; a passer-by would 
have thought he was admiring his own likeness, clearly 
reflected therein. 

Then he hurried to the nearest gate. He had to 
cross the town to get to the Rue Cornavin. It was 
now near midday, and he had not tasted food since 
the previous evening. So, feeling very hungry, he 
turned into the first of the famous Genevan 
confectioners’ shops he happened to pass, and, boy- 
like, made a hearty meal upon spiced bread and cheese- 
cakes. 

This was on the Pont Bati, where the shops were 
excellent. He then turned aside into the Rue du 
Temple, and sought the shop of one Master Sangsoue, 
an apothecary. 

‘ I dare not go to Syndic Aubert,’ he said to himself, 

‘ it would be too dangerous.’ 

‘Oh, is that you. Master Norbert de Caulaincourt ? ’ 
said the man of drugs, who knew him by sight. 
‘Have you heard of the trouble of your friends the 
Bertheliers ? Though scarcely to be called a trouble, 
after all. Strange news indeed, that a slip of a girl 
growing up in our midst, whom no one thought 
anything about, should turn out to be a Savoyard 
lady of the noble house of Lormayeur.’ 

‘Yes,’ said Norbert, drearily, ‘ I know.’ 

‘ Do you know also that Damoiselle Claudine 

137 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

Berthelier had taken to her bed ? Though that is 
not my affair, as no one but Syndic Aubert will serve 
the turn of her brother — who is not wont to be so fond 
of syndics. All I hope is, that he will give the poor 
lady plenty of antifebrine medicine. Tnere’s an herb 
now, gathered at the full of the moon — but I crave 
your pardon, young sir, for talking of the mysteries 
of leech-craft, which in nature you cannot understand. 
What is your pleasure with me ? ’ 

‘ An’ it please you. Master Apothecary, I want a good 
strong sleeping-potion.’ 

‘ For whom, I pray you ? Man, or woman, or 
child ? ’ 

‘ For whom should it be but myself? ’ 

‘Ah, now you jest. What should a strong, healthy 
lad like you want with a sleeping-potion ? ’ 

‘ That is all you know. Have I not been suffering 
tortures all this week from a bad double tooth ? ’ 

‘ Let me take it out for you. I shall not be a minute, 
and the charge is but a groat.’ He turned to fetch the 
horrible instrument of which Norbert had once before 
had a most disagreeable experience. 

‘ No,' he answered emphatically, backing almost out 
of the little shop. Then returning a step, ‘ Will you 
give me the potion, Master Sangsoue, or must I go for 
it to Master Aubert? Or, better still, for he would 
give it cheaper, to Master Solomon the Jew, on the 
Molard ? ’ 

Now Master Sangsoue hated Solomon the Jew like 
the poison he accused him of selling to honest Christians, 
so he hastened to take down a jar from the highest of 
his shelves. 


138 


Is there any Help ? 

‘ Well, M. Norbert, since it seems you are not 
man enough to get rid of your foe at once, here is 
what will lull him to sleep for a good twelve hours. 
Hast brought a flask ? No ? Then I must lend you 
one. Be sure you bring it back.’ 

‘ That will I, with a thank you. What am I to 
pay ? ’ 

‘ Oh, a trifle of half a dozen deniers. But you had 
better have given the groat, and left the tooth behind 
you.’ 

‘’Tis not the pay I mind, but the pain,’ said 
Norbert. 

* Ah ! Perhaps we shall have you consulting that 
new fellow, full of his conceits, who has come to the 
town. A dentist, forsooth, he calls himself, and proposes 
to mend folks’ teeth for them in their heads — such 
presumption I To think he could mend what God 
Almighty made ! But, now that Master Calvin himself 
has let him try his hand upon him, we shall have all the 
town running after him. Here is your draught, M. 
Norbert ; I hope it will serve your turn. Take it when 
you have said your prayers, and are lying down to 
sleep.’ 

Norbert took the flask, and turned his footsteps 
towards the Rue Cornavin. But as he drew near they 
slackened. 

‘ So far so good,’ he pondered. ‘ But now the 
difficulties begin. What to do with Berthelier? All 
the others I can manage, but he — he is one of those 
Genevans who think a lie as bad as a murder. And 
he has it in him to stand like a rock, I see it 
in his eyes. Though it is all for her whom he loves 

139 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

SO. No, it is for both. Perhaps, after all, there is 
some good in prayer, and since it is to save His 
servants, I might ask God to help me. I don't know. 
And here I am at the door. Now for all the good 
wit I have ever had ! I’m sure I need it ; I could 
wish myself a greybeard for the nonce. But no, that 
would spoil all.’ 

Marguerite answered his knock with a woebegone, 
tear-stained face. 

‘Come in, M. Norbert,’ she said. ‘She is asking for 
you. She is asking for you. She thinks you will be 
sorry,’ 

‘I do not want to see Mademoiselle Gabrielle just 
now,’ Norbert said. ‘ It is the Damoiselle Claudine I 
want, and you. Both together.’ 

‘The Damoiselle Claudine is ill.’ 

‘ No matter, — I mean, I am sorry, but I must see 
her. Bring me to her chamber, and do you come too. 
I have something of importance to say.’ 

‘What has come over the lad, to order his elders 
about in such fashion.?’ thought Marguerite. But to- 
day her wonted combativeness was crushed by sorrow. 
She only said — 

‘ Nothing is of importance now, save the one thing 
you cannot help or hinder.’ 

Norbert put his lips to her ear and whispered, 
‘ Perhaps I can.’ 

She shook her head sadly, but added, ‘ I will see if 
you can see the damoiselle.’ 

‘ Do so ; and I pray thee do not let Master Berthelier 
know I am here.’ 

‘ Master Berthelier borrowed a horse, and went forth 
140 


Is there any Help ? 

betimes this morning, we know not where or wherefore. 
He said he might be back to-night, or perchance not till 
to-morrow.’ 

The stars in their courses were fighting for Norbert 
de Caulaincourt 


141 


CHAPTER XII 

A ‘GENTLEMAN OF THE SPOON* 

‘Little hands clasp muckle gold, 

Else it were not worth thy hold.* 

E. B. Browning. 

T he Queen of the Spring was holding her gracious 
and fragrant revel in a fair valley of Savoy. 
Orange trees were white with glorious blossom, 
and the carpet of wild hyacinths beneath them, though 
splashed here and there with patches of scarlet 
anemone, 

‘ Seemed like the sky up-breaking through the earth.* 

High above rose the glittering peaks of the everlasting 
hills, standing like priests between earth and heaven, in 
their ephods of untrodden snow. 

Quite indifferent to all this beauty seemed the 
solitary horseman who rode along the bridle-path which 
traversed the valley. He was a good-looking youth of 
one or two and twenty, in a handsome riding costume 
with an embroidered cape, a fashionable kausse col 
or high collar, and a plumed velvet bonnet, which was 
further adorned with a golden ornament, oddly 
resembling a spoon. His features were regular, and 
would have been pleasant to look on, but for their 
142 


A ‘ Gentleman of the Spoon ’ 

unmistakable expression of distress and anxiety. No 
one, certainly, would have guessed from his face that 
Victor de Lormayeur was riding to the * bower ’ of the 
lady he loved. There are meetings in this world sadder 
than partings, and this was one of them. Once or twice 
the young cavalier made an effort to beguile his way 
with a drinking or a hunting song, but the words 
presently died on his lips. He relapsed into gloomy 
silence, broken only by what sounded like muttered 
curses, upon himself probably, or upon his evil fate. 

Emerging at last from the valley, he came in sight 
of a gloomy, half-ruinous tower or keep, with a few 
cultivated fields about it. He rode through these, and 
up to a postern gate, upon which he knocked six times, 
loud and low alternately. 

It was evidently a preconcerted signal. Presently 
an aged servant opened the door, and saluted him with 
much respect. 

^ Will it please my young lord to repose himself in 
the matted chamber ? ’ he asked. ‘ I go to summon 
Rose, and to see to your excellency’s horse.’ 

‘Thanks, old friend,’ said Victor, removing his 
bonnet. ‘ How fares it with thy lord ? ’ 

‘ Well as can be looked for. Sir Count, well as can be 
looked for. But he is old, very. One foot in the 
grave, as one may say. Ah me, his race is almost 
run ! ’ 

Victor thought his servant not far behind him in 
that race. But he only said — 

‘ Let one of the boys hold my horse, Pietro ; for I 
cannot stay,’ and passed in through the hall to the matted 
parlour. 


143 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

He well knew his way about that house, the 
residence of an old kinsman on his mother’s side. 
Philibert de Mayne was a broken-down, impoverished 
noble of Savoy, who had fared so ill in the vicissitudes 
of those rough times that at the end of a chequered and 
stormy life there remained to him only this half-ruined 
castle, and the few poor fields about it. He had, 
however, one other treasure, the best and dearest of 
his possessions, his orphaned granddaughter, pretty little 
Arietta. 

It was she, and not the elderly bower-woman Rose, 
who opened the door of the matted chamber, and glided 
softly in. 

Victor had been sitting at the table, his face buried 
in his hands. But he would have heard that light step, 
as he thought then, fathoms deep in his grave. He 
sprang up and turned towards her, his whole face 
kindling, but shadowed again the next moment with a 
look of pain. 

As their hands touched each spoke but one word. 

‘ Arietta ! ’ — ‘ Victor ! ’ 

Victor came nearer, as if to embrace her. ‘ No,’ she 
said, drawing back. ‘ That is over. I know all’ 

Victor’s lips moved, but no sound came from them. 
She went on — 

‘Last week Pietro was at Lormayeur. Nothing is 
talked of there save the bride from Geneva, through 
whom you are to win back the broad lands of Castelar.* 

‘ I care not for them ! I hate them ! I would give 
them all for one lock of hair from that little head of 
thine r Victor broke in passionately. ‘Arietta, hear 
me 1 I cannot give you up, and I will not.’ 

144 


A ‘ Gentleman of the Spoon ’ 

* Hush, Victor ! These are idle words, which thou 
shouldest not speak, and I should not hear. Thou hast 
no choice.* 

‘But I have. I can tell my father the Genevan 
bride may drown in the Genevan lake for me.’ 

‘ As you will. Only remember, if you do, it is not 
the Genevan bride (whom the sain‘s forgive me if I 
curse), but my poor old grandfather and myself, who 
may drown, or die by the roadside of cold and hunger.’ 

‘ I will take care of you.’ 

‘ How ? when you are a close prisoner in one of the 
turrets of Lormayeur, and we are driven from this, the 
only shelter we have. I know thy father ; he is relentless 
in hate, yet he can slay his hate for his greed’s sake. 
His greed can he slay for the sake of nothing, in heaven 
or in hell. No, Victor, all is over for us. We children 
have had our play-hour, and dreamed our dream 
together. We are awake now, so we must forget it, and 
say good-bye.’ 

‘ I cannot — I cannot ! ’ 

Arietta’s proud lip curled, and her dark eyes flashed. 
* Cannot f Is that a word for a man ? ’ she said. 

‘ To fight for you I could be a man — a hero. To give 
you up I am — a very child.’ His head went down upon 
his hands again. 

‘ Then I treat you as the child you are. I do for 
you what you are too weak to do for yourself. Listen, 
Sir Count, I give you up. What was between us is as 
nothing to me now.’ 

Victor sprang to his feet, and seized both her hands. 
‘Arietta,’ he cried, ‘you never cared as I did ! No, no — 
you did not ! Look in my face and tell me ! ' 

145 


K 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

She bit her lip till the blood came, one crimson drop 
on the snow-white tooth. Then she spoke coldly — 

‘M. de Lormayeur, you are hurting me. Let me 
go, sir.’ 

Victor dropped her hands, and, with a sudden 
revulsion of feeling, murmured, * Forgive — beloved ! I 
do you wrong.’ 

‘ There is no wrong. Only you must not question 
me. Nor — make it harder for us both;’ with the last 
words the firm voice shook a little. 

‘What can it be but hard — bitterly, unsupportably 
hard ? ’ 

‘For you there are consolations. And as for me,’ 
she added proudly, ‘ do not think, Sir Count, that I shall 
pine away, a love-lorn damsel, for you, or for any man. 
Far otherwise. My place and my welcome await me 
with the Ursulines of Chambery, all of them damoiselles 
of good family. There, when my grandfather goes to 
God, I shall rest in peace ; and I shall not forget to pray 
for you, M. de Lormayeur. Meanwhile your sword is 
at your side, and the world is before your face. You 
will fight and conquer ’ 

‘ And come back desolate, with an empty heart ! * 

‘ No ’ — but she paused here, for her magnanimity 
stopped short of wishing him happiness with the 
Genevan bride. ‘ No — in a man’s life there are many 
things to fill the heart.’ 

‘ There is but one that makes all life for me.’ 

* So you think to-day. But, Victor, all this is useless, 
and worse. More anguish for us both. If you are not 
man enough to end it, I will. One word of your visits 
here to the count your father, and — not you, but 
146 


^ ' 









I 








4 


K 


• V 
1 


4 


f 


i 

I 




4 







DAMOISELLE, I DRINK TO YOUR HEALTH 
AND HAPPINESS.’ 


A ‘ Gentleman of the Spoon ’ 

my grandfather and I, would bear the weight of his 
vengeance. If you come again, that word shall be 
spoken.’ 

All this time Rose, the bower-woman, watched and 
waited outside, trembling for her darling. At last she 
went away, fetched wine and manchet bread, and 
brought them in. Victor was standing at the window, 
his face turned away. Arietta at the table, calm, but 
white as marble. 

* The young count must not leave us fasting,’ said 
Rose, laying down the silver tray she brought. With a 
hand that only trembled slightly. Arietta filled one of 
the tall Venice glasses and brought it to Victor. He 
raised it to his lips with the words, ‘ Damoiselle, I drink 
to your health and happiness.’ That was the last thing 
Rose heard as she left the room. What other farewell 
those two who loved may have taken, neither ever told. 
Presently Victor came forth with a white face, mounted 
in silence, gave Pietro a piece of gold, and rode 
away. 

The Savoyard girl had shown herself as heroic as 
her unknown sister in Geneva. But her soul was cast in 
a sterner mould than Gabrielle s. It w’ould not have 
fared well with the Genevan, if she had been in her 
rival’s power that day. 

Arietta stood waiting until Victor had disappeared. 
Then she came back to the matted parlour, took up the 
costly glass he had drunk from, and flung it on the 
floor, shivering it to fragments. No lips should touch it 
again after his. But the next moment she knelt, took 
up one of the fragments, and hid it in her bosom. 

Victor, meanwhile, was returning to Lormayeur. He 

147 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

was doomed to bow his neck beneath the yoke, repugnant 
though it was ; and his doom pressed on him every 
moment more and more inevitably, irresistibly. To 
resist would have required not courage but heroism, 
and Victor de Lormayeur was no hero. He was only a 
brave, not unchivalrous young noble of Savoy. Deprived 
early of his mother, he had been brought up by a stern, 
unloving father, and a set of obsequious domestics, who 
humoured his lightest fancy. He owed nothing to his 
education, save the ability to read and write, after a 
fashion, and sufficient dexterity in all martial and 
knightly exercises. He had been taught to hold in the 
utmost detestation all the Reformed, and especially the 
Genevese. By his father’s command, he joined the 
League of the Savoyard nobles against the Protestant 
city, which was called the ‘ League of the Spoon,’ hence 
the emblem worn * in bosom or in bonnet.’ 

This increased the terror and dismay with which he 
heard his destiny from his father’s lips. To wed a 
maiden brought up in the heretic city, amongst burghers, 
roturiers, canaille! What a fate for the heir of 
Lormayeur ! 

Yet once more, on his return from his visit to Arietta, 
he ventured to urge his remonstrances. His father cut 
them short with scant ceremony. 

‘ Hold thy peace, boy, an’ thou hast a grain of sense 
left in thy stupid head. ’Tis enough to make a man 
mad, by all the saints, to hear thee play the fool, with 
all thy silly objections, while all the time that cur, that 
villain Santana, has in his grip the broad lands of 
Castelar, to which that girl is the heir direct! And no 
other way to get them from him, save to get hold of her. 

148 


A ‘ Gentleman of the Spoon ’ 

Then, indeed, the duke will do right to her and to us, 
and we can fling Santana back into the mire he came 
from.* 

‘ Count and father, why not secure the girl and the 
lands, and leave me free ? * 

* Belike ! and leave her free too to marry Santana, 
who would be glad enough to clench his title thus — or 
to go into a convent, and take all to Mother Church. 
Thank you ; I was not born yesterday. The Lady 
Olive is well worth those beggarly heretics I am buying 
her with.’ 

* That I doubt not, my lord, I only doubt if she be 
worth the sacrifice to me.’ 

‘ What sacrifice, you fool } To wed a fair bride ? 
Old Muscaut chanted madrigals in praise of her 
beauty.’ 

Victor had not the courage to say with the English 
poet — 

*What reck I how fair she be. 

So she is not fair to me?* 

He could only turn away in silence. 

‘ Stay,’ said his father. ‘ These burghers are in a 
hurry — afraid, no doubt, to lose so good a bargain. 
They will be ready on the third day. You must go 
and fetch the girl. Be sure you look your best and 
gayest. I am sending with you the fairest show of 
retainers I can muster. Also sumpter mules, with a 
pavilion for shelter, and good store of refreshment by 
the way. The weather is fair, and you can bivouac 
close at hand, so as to come right early to the trysting- 
place. Thus, one long day’s ride — which ought to be 
one long day’s pleasure to her — will bring her safely 
149 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

home. And thou art, for the journey, her very humble 
and devoted cavalier and servant. If thou canst not 
make good use of such a chance as that, then art 
thou, of a certainty, even a greater fool than I took 
thee for/ 


150 


CHAPTER XIII 

THE GENEVAN BRIDE 

E arly on the morning of the appointed day, two 
companies met in the Plain-palais, just outside 
the Porte Neuve. They were in strong contrast 
each with the other. Those who had approached the 
town from the vineyards of Savoy were a gallant band, 
who sat proudly on their richly caparisoned horses, and 
wore with a lordly air their embroidered surcoats of 
scarlet and silver. They bore no arms except their 
swords, as they had come upon a peaceful errand, 
witnessed by the white flag their trumpeter bore before 
them. At their head rode young Victor de Lormayeur, 
in his richest dress, but with a gloomy, preoccupied air. 
When they came within a short distance of the other 
party, he stopped, and turned to those behind with a 
brief word of command. 

There were three dark blots on the gay colouring of 
the Savoyard troop. Three horsemen bore each behind 
him a meagre and ill-clad figure, a patch of black or 
grey amidst the scarlet and the white. These were 
the prisoners whose ransom Gabrielle was to pay. At 
Victor’s signal they were asked to dismount and take 

151 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

their places in front of the cavalcade, which then 
advanced at a foot pace, the riders uncovering as they 
drew near to the men of Geneva. 

Then came forward slowly a group of sober, grave - 
looking citizens, robed in black, relieved here and there 
by a touch of violet. They were on foot ; but in their 
midst, on a palfrey, sat a slight figure, closely veiled, 
dressed in a riding robe of plain but very fine black 
cloth, trimmed with costly fur, marten or ‘cat of Mars,’ 
as it was called then. Strapped behind her on the 
palfrey was a ‘ mail,* or portmanteau, of modest 
dimensions. The first thing Victor noticed was that 
the lady did not seem a practised rider, which, under the 
circumstances, was not unnatural. 

He dismounted, and approaching still nearer, made 
the lowest of ‘reverences’ to the lady, and bowed to 
her companions with suitable though stately courtesy. 
If a Gentleman of the Spoon, he was a gentleman still, 
and would not show the contempt he felt for these 
miserable burghers. Then followed certain formalities ; 
and each party solemnly asserted its readiness to perform 
what was agreed upon in the letters exchanged between 
the ‘illustrious* Count of Lormayeur and the ‘praise- 
worthy * citizens of Geneva. Then Germain de 
Caulaincourt and his two companions were handed 
over to the Genevans, who received them with lively 
demonstrations of joy. 

‘And now,* said the young count, with a smile, 
‘ it is our turn to welcome, not a captive, indeed, but 
one who will find us her willing captives and true 
servitors.* 

A grave, quiet-looking man, in very sober attire, led 
152 


The Genevan Bride 


the palfrey forward. With him came the first syndic, 
bearing his staff of office, and followed by a notary 
dressed in his robe and carrying a bag. 

‘ Sir Count,* said the syndic, ‘ we bring and deliver 
to you, as covenanted, the Lady Olive de Castelar, 
otherwise Damoiselle Gabrielle Berthelier. The notary 
here present will place in your hands the papers relating 
to her, and give you any other satisfaction you may 
reasonably demand.* 

Victor bowed once more to the lady, then, turning 
to the notary, received from his hand the offered papers. 
There was the precious fragment that attested the 
child’s birth and parentage, and a few entries from the 
registry of her ‘ Quarter,’ in which she was mentioned 
as the ward and adopted daughter of Citizen Ami 
Berthelier. 

‘ I presume,* Victor said, addressing the person who 
held the lady’s rein, ‘that you are the worthy citizen 
whom we have to thank for the care and upbringing of 
our young kinswoman ? * 

‘Not so, my lord,* he answered, with evident 
embarrassment. ‘ Master Berthelier being absent, I 
am here to represent him, as the neighbour and next 
friend of the maiden.* 

‘ But, of course,* said the notary, ‘ you are prepared. 
Master Antoine, to swear to her identity — though it be 
a mere matter of form.’ 

‘ I swear it,* said Antoine Calvin. 

‘As I do also,* said Syndic Amblarde Come. ‘We 
can take oath. Sir Count, under any form, not contrary 
to the rules of our religion, which may be satisfactory 
to your excellency.* 


153 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

‘Enough said/ the courteous young count made 
answer. ‘ I am quite satisfied.’ Then he turned to 
the lady; ‘Fair lady and dear cousin, permit me to 
welcome you to your kindred and your country, and 
in token of my true obeisance and devotion, to kiss 
your hand.* 

The hand beneath the lady’s riding cloak trembled, 
as if about to come forth, but the syndic interposed. 

‘Were it not meet and fitting that the maiden should 
first raise her veil, so as to be fairly seen by those to 
whom we are delivering her ? ’ 

The veil was raised, just a little, affording a tantalising 
glimpse of a beautiful, downcast face, with traces of 
recent tears. But the pain and reluctance of the maiden 
were so evident that the chivalrous Victor hastened to 
say — 

‘ Do not incommode yourself, sweet lady ; your 
servitor will wait in patience till you condescend to 
rejoice him with the sight of your beauty. Will it 
please you now to bid farewell to these your good 
friends, whom we trust never to give you cause to 
regret } ’ 

But the half-raised veil had been dropped again, and 
an indistinct, broken murmur was understood to mean, 
‘ All my farewells have been said already ; ’ so, with a 
deferential word of apology, Victor laid his hand on the 
palfrey’s rein, and the captives’ ransom was paid. The 
two bands saluted, as courteous foes when they meet on 
neutral ground. Then they went their different ways. 
But, ere they parted, the veiled figure on the palfrey 
had heard De Caulaincourt ask, ‘But where is Norbert ? 
Why has he not come to meet me ? ’ 

154 



THE VEIL WAS RAISED, JUST A LITTLE 






The Genevan Bride 


The gay Savoyard cavalcade rode on, Victor in close 
attendance on his destined bride, whom, little as he 
liked to think of in that character, he yet regarded with 
no small interest. It occurred to him as rather strange 
that she should have come quite alone ; he had expected 
her to bring an attendant of her own sex, two or three, 
perhaps. He expressed a courteous fear that she might 
be incommoded on the journey for the lack of a tiring- 
maid or bower-woman, but added that this lack would 
be supplied when they reached Lormayeur, which he 
hoped to do that night. 

Then for the first time he heard her voice, and its 
sound was pleasant in his ears — 

‘ We of Geneva have small need of tire-women. And 
no Genevan would have come with me — because of the 
religion.* 

‘ Ah, the religion ! ’ Victor said, scornfully. Then 
his tone changing : ‘ Have no concern, sweet lady, about 
this matter of religion. We are both young, and you 
are very beautiful. I am sure the good God would 
have us enjoy our youth, without troubling our heads 
about death, purgatory, hell, and heaven, and the like 
melancholy themes.’ 

* Is heaven a melancholy theme ? ’ asked the young 
lady. 

‘All we have got to go through on the chance of 
getting there most certainly is. I, for one, prefer to 
leave the business with the priests, who are paid for 
minding it Very ill they do it sometimes, I must 
own.’ 

‘True, Sir Count; therefore might it not be well to 
look into things a little for ourselves ? ’ 

155 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

‘Perhaps ; but there is a time for all things, and this 
is the time for ease and joyaunce, for pleasure 
and for pastime. A face so fair as that of the Lady 
of Castelar is meant to be the cynosure of adoring 
eyes, not hidden by a nun’s veil or bent over stupid 
books.’, 

‘Do you think books stupid, Sir Count?’ 

‘Well, not all books. Not Amadis de Gaul or 
The Seven Champions of Christendom. But you do 
not have such books in your Geneva, I believe, fair 
lady?’ 

‘ No ; at least, I have not seen them there. We 
have good books, like the Bible.’ 

‘The Bible! Heaven help you, lady! Or rather, 
heaven help the poor folk that are there still ; since, the 
saints be thanked, your loveliness is being translated 
into scenes more fit for it. Lady, I am transported 
at the thought of introducing you to pastimes you 
have never dreamed of yet, but for which you are so 
wondrously fitted. Perhaps, even, you have never 
learned to dance?’ 

‘ I think,’ said the lady, with a slight tremor in her 
voice — ‘ I think I could manage a country dance, if 
it were very simple — or a virolet. We have them 
sometimes.’ 

‘May I have the supreme honour and felicity of 
being your instructor in the gentle art, as we Savoyards 
practised?’ asked Victor; adding mentally, ‘Perhaps 
they of Geneva are not quite such barbarians, after all. 
I have no doubt,’ he resumed, ‘that the Lady of Castelar 
loves music, and can make it. With a face so lovely 
there must go a voice to match.’ 

156 


The Genevan Bride 

* I can sing psalms/ 

‘From such lips the dismallest of Clement Marot’s 
dismal productions must sound like the melody of 
angels/ 

‘There be angels — of divers kinds/ said the lady 
demurely. 

This strain of compliment Victor pursued for some 
time, with but brief answers from the lady, whose voice 
had sometimes a half-choked sound, which he attributed 
to suppressed weeping, and redoubled his efforts to 
cheer and console her. As he went on, he grew more 
and more florid in his compliments and unsparing in his 
flattery, all being entirely in the taste and after the 
manner of the age. But the strange thing was, that 
as his language heated his imagination cooled. He 
liked the young lady well, he liked her increasingly — as 
a friend or comrade. As his destined bride he found it 
difficult to think of her. 

The noonday sun grew hot, but shade and refresh- 
ment were ready for the travellers. Some of Victor’s 
people had gone on before, and set up the pavilion in a 
pleasant glade, upon flowery grass. Here the midday 
meal was spread, and here, if she chose it, the lady 
could repose herself. 

The repast was choice and abundant ; and Victor 
saw with satisfaction that the lady did fair justice to 
the venison pasty, the ‘ blanc mange * of capon’s breast, 
and the sugared cheese-cakes he pressed upon her, 
though she drank but little wine. The hand that held 
the knife and spoon was not so small and delicate 
as he expected. ‘No doubt,’ he thought, ‘the poor 
child, brought up in ignorance of her rank, has done 

157 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

rough household work with it, after the wont of these 
burghers’ wives and daughters.’ Her face, better seen 
now, lost nothing of its beauty, yet it stirred in him 
entirely the instinct of camaraderie^ not any warmer 
feeling. 

As they toyed with the delicate confections that 
concluded the repast, a visitor was announced. It 
proved to be the Prior of Saint Margaud, a monastery 
of the neighbourhood, who had come to pay his respects 
to the son of the lord of the soil, the Count of Lormayeur, 
passing by chance through his domain. Victor, of course, 
presented him to the Lady of Castelar ; but, supposing 
the churchman would be necessarily obnoxious to the 
fair Genevan, was not surprised to see her shrink into 
herself, and even lower her veil. The prior, on the 
other hand — in the intervals of eating marchepane and 
drinking vin de Beaume, and also of detailing to the 
young count the difficulties and needs of his monastery 
— regarded her with interest and attention, perhaps not 
altogether friendly. She may have observed it, for when 
the visit had lasted about half an hour she turned 
courteously to Victor ; ‘ Did I not hear you say. 
Sir Count, that we have a long way to travel before 
nightfall ? ’ 

At this rather broad hint the prior took his leave, 
Victor going forth with him. 

* 1 wonder, Sir Count,’ said the churchman, ‘ if the 
late Lady of Castelar, the mother of your guest, can 
have been a Frenchwoman ? ’ 

‘No, lather; she was an Italian from Piedmont, as I 
happen to know. She died young, but she was renowned 
for her beauty, which this young lady inherits. Don’t 

158 


The Genevan Bride 


you think so ? In such matters churchmen, proverbially, 
are good judges.* 

‘Yes, but — if I may venture to say so — ^just a little 
bony, not quite mince — delicate — enough for my taste. 
A French cast of face, reminding me of some one I had 
lately seen. Of whom I could not think, and now — the 
thought is so strange I scarce like to say it She favours 
that heretic preacher who was brought to the monastery 
by those that took him, and whom I sent to your 
father.* 

‘ What a notion ! * said Victor, with a laugh. ‘ Though, 
after all, the Frenchman was a gentleman. We brought 
him with us yesterday to Geneva ; and on the way he 
thanked me very courteously for having sent something 
now and again to him and his companions, to mend 
their cheer when they were in the dungeon. Will you 
absolve me, father, for the same ? * 

‘’Twas no mortal sin,* said the prior good-naturedly. 
‘Still, Sir Count, you have need of care, lest your 
kindness of heart should outrun your good judgment. 
You should keep strict watch upon that young lady, 
and see that she be well converted from the error 
of her heretic ways. Forgive my freedom, M. de 
Lormayeur.* 

Victor did not mind his freedom of speech, but he 
was hurt at his depreciatory remarks about the Lady 
of Castelar. Still, they parted amicably, and after a 
reasonable rest the wayfarers pursued their journey. 
With even greater assiduity than before, Victor devoted 
himself to his fair companion. After the fashion and 
the taste of the time, he racked his brains for flattering 
speeches, which would now be thought too gross and 

159 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

exaggerated, but were then quite permissible. He 
praised her hair, her cheeks, her lips, her eyebrows, 
her eyelashes, her eyes. 

‘But I am not the first, doubtless, to call those 
adorable orbs the sweetest ever seen,’ he said ‘ Even 
in your grave, cold Geneva, there must have been many 
to tell you of their exceeding beauty.’ 

‘I do not think they said — quite that,’ was the 
faltering answer. 

‘ Those fair lips can only speak the truth,’ Victor 
pursued. ‘Else such dulness of sense and soul, even 
in that nest of heretics, would be past credence. But, 
sweet lady, you are going now into a world which will 
soon be at your feet ; so it is well you should understand 
the might of the weapons with which you are gifted. 
A face of such surpassing loveliness ’ 

‘ Good Sir Count, I cannot but be flattered that you 
think it so. Still, if it please you, I would rather hear 
just now somewhat of who I am than of what^ in your 
loo partial judgment, I seem to be.’ 

‘ How well she speaks,’ thought Victor, ‘ and how 
frankly she answers me ! I have heard that “they of 
Geneva” make their girls learn like their boys. I 
should hold her lief and dear as a friend — or a brother 
in arms, if that were possible. But a bride — the 
saints help me ! ’ Here the beloved and gracious 
image of Arietta rose before him in contrast. He 
choked down some strange feeling with an effort ere 
he answered, in his former tone of compliment and 
complaisance — 

‘ The fair damoiselle I have the honour of addressing 
is no less illustrious a person than the Lady Olive de 
i6o 


The Genevan Bride 


Castelar, sole heiress to the broad lands and the rich 
revenues of her noble house.’ 

*Is she — am I — heiress to any ties of kindred or 
relationship ? ’ 

* Sweet lady, your mother died at your birth, and 
your father soon afterwards. Brother or sister you had 
none. My father’s father was first cousin to yours, so 
that you and I are cousins in the third degree. However, 
should certain hopes I am bold enough to conceive be 
crowned with success, a dispensation from his holiness 
will make everything right’ 

‘ Do you really think it will, Sir Count ? * 

* Of a surety. But I ought to tell you, lady, you 

have another kinsman, on your mother’s side — a 
Piedmontese — a soldier of fortune, named Santana, who 
fought under the late duke, and was high in his favour. 
You know what ill-luck our present liege lord, Duke 
Emanuel Philibert, has had, and how he has lost the 
greater part of Savoy. Poor gentleman ! he could not 
look into things for himself, and he took Santana on 
trust from his father, grateful to any one who stuck to 
him in his troubles. The villain has got his ear, and 
won from him, too easily, the grant of the Castelar 
succession and estates — your estates, fair lady. He 
represented to his highness that the direct line was 
extinct. So, to do him justice, he thought, like every 
one else. But now,’ Victor added incautiously, ‘we 
have the trump card ’ 

‘The trump card appreciates the honour at its just 
price,’ said the lady with a bow. 

Victor was covered with confusion. He had shown 
his hand too plainly ; and the lady, evidently of keen 

i6i L 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

intelligence, let nothing escape her. He hastened to 
retrieve his error. ‘ The trump card in this game is the 
queen of hearts,’ he said. 

‘ Take care lest the queen, in your hands, should 
change to a knave.’ 

‘ How sharp she is ! ’ thought Victor. ' From this 
queen’s eyes,’ he protested, ‘ can nought look forth save 
the truth and candour of her soul.’ 

‘Then will I use truth and candour in speaking to 
you, Sir Count. I perfectly understand you now, and 
also your illustrious father. Not for love of the unknown 
Genevan maiden have you undertaken this business. 
But for these same broad lands and possessions, she 
might have lived and died in her obscurity — and her 
heresy. And should she perhaps, even now, resign in 
your favour her rights and claims to them, methinks you 
would be well content.’ 

‘ Lady, you misjudge me,’ Victor pleaded, in a fever 
of confusion and perplexity, whilst inwardly he cursed 
his own awkwardness and the lady’s wit. Yet, strange 
to say, he admired her the more, and felt the more 
anxious to propitiate her. ‘You misjudge me sorely; 
though perchance I have deserved it. I own that, 
before I saw you, before I basked in the light of your 
beauty, I may have thought, possibly, of lands — of 
wealth.’ 

‘Very natural and usual subjects of thought,’ the 
lady said. 

Her veil was raised now, and she looked full in 
the face of Victor. The look, as he read it, was arch, 
provoking, bewitching, as of one who had the best of 
the situation, and knew it, and meant to keep it. A 
162 


The Genevan Bride 


new spirit came over him ; at that moment it seemed 
easy to him to do what before he deemed intolerable. 
Yes; and the quicklier it were done the easier. 
‘Better sin the whole sin out.* Better at once meet 
the inevitable, satisfy his father, and seal his own 
fate for ever. The customs of the time, and all he 
knew of knightly practice and device, sanctioned his 
purpose. 

* Dear, adorable maiden,’ he began ; she dropped 
her veil again, and drew a little apart from him but he 
went on bravely, ‘ do you not see that there is one best, 
one perfect way of uniting all claims ? It is not well, 
it is not right, perhaps, to speak of it so soon. Perhaps 
in justice I ought to leave you free — free to see and 
enjoy the fair world of joyaunce and of song, of dance 
and tournay and festival, from which hitherto you have 
been shut out. But all these, and more, you shall have 
in full measure. Indeed, if your true servitor can 
make it so, your life shall be all one long, sweet joy. 
Is it too soon, then, to ask for a word of hope and 
encouragement } If you think so, bid me be silent 
and wait, for a month, a year, two years even, if you 
will. Only speak. Lady, I am at your feet.’ 

‘ But that you say so, I should have thought you 
were on your horse,’ was the unexpected answer. 

Her coolness piqued Victor all the more. Having 
cried down the voice of his own heart, and done the 
thing his truer nature abhorred, the very stress of the 
effort drove him on to the bitter end. Was it bitter, 
after all ? A rush of feeling came upon him ; something 
strange possessed him — like strong wine. They were 
alone now, far in advance of their escort, riding through 
163 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

a wood. He sprang from his horse, and knelt in good 
earnest before her on the grass. 

She reined in her palfrey, and looked at him, for a 
moment, as one perplexed. Then she said, in an odd, 
strained voice — 

‘ Sir Count, I pray of you to rise.’ 

‘ Not till I have had a word from those fair lips of 
yours. Should that word be “ Wait,” should you set me 
a time of probation, I am still your obedient and most 
humble servitor.’ 

‘ Then obey me by rising. If you will not, you 
force me instead to ask of you some other thing.’ 

‘Ask what you will. ’Twill be my honour and my 
joy to grant it’ 

‘No joy in this, and no honour, to thee or to me.’ 
She dismounted and stood straight up before him on 
the grass. ‘ Sir Count, the boon I ask of thee is — to 
draw that sword of thine, and kill me.’ 

He gazed at her amazed — petrified. Had she 

suddenly gone mad ? 

Ere he found a word to speak, she had flung off her 
hood, her veil, her kerchief, and run her fingers rapidly 
through her disordered hair. 

‘The queen has changed into a knave,’ said Norbert 
de Caulaincourt. 

Victor’s fair open face grew deadly pale. Once, 
twice, thrice, he crossed himself with trembling hand, as 
he struggled to his feet, he knew not how. 

‘ This is witchcraft ! ’ he murmured. 

‘ Only the witchcraft of a son who would save his 
father, and a friend who would save a young lady he 
esteemed from a dreaded fate.’ 

164 


The Genevan Bride 


* Geneva shall smart for this ! ’ 

‘ Geneva was not to blame. All was done in good 
faith. I had neither confederate nor helper, save 
Gabrielle’s nurse. And you can do no more to Geneva 
than you have done before.’ 

‘ Holy saints ! To think of my father’s fury ’ 

* I have laid my account for that, and will pay the 
reckoning.’ 

* If I bring you to him * 

‘You may, in justice. But if, as I think, you are 
generous, you may slay me where I stand instead. I 
should thank you.’ 

‘’Tis the strangest thing I ever heard,’ said Victor, 
standing still and gazing at him as one amazed. Yet, 
amidst all his amazement, one thought came surging up 
— a thought of joy. He was free now. Who could 
force him to wed a maiden who was safe within the 
hostile walls of Geneva ? As his heart for the moment 
lightened, his eye was caught by a gleam of scarlet 
between the trees. It was the escort coming up to them. 
They must know nothing — he would stop them. ‘ Stand 
where thou art,’ he said hastily to Norbert ; then he 
mounted his horse, rode back, gave his commands, and 
returned. 

‘Thou and I must settle this matter alone,’ he 
said. 

‘ I await your pleasure,’ answered Norbert. 

Now that his part was played and his work done, he 
seemed turned to stone. He did not care, just then, 
what happened to himself. He supposed he had to 
die. That was all. He only hoped it would be soon 
over. 

165 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

* How did you ever come to think of such a thing ? ’ 
Victor asked weakly. His superficial feeling still was 
sheer bewilderment, but underneath was a sort of 
admiration for the boy’s audacity and cleverness, and, 
mingling with all, that strange, unutterable sense of 
relief. 

* It was the only way.* 

Victor stood bewildered. At last he broke out, * I 
have been a fool, a cursed fool ! I let myself be duped 
too easily. How I am to face my father after this, St. 
Victor, my patron, may tell me, if he knows ! ’Twill not 
help my case to bring to Lormayeur, instead of the 
heiress of Castelar, a slip of a boy ! ’ 

Then, raising his eyes from the ground, he looked at 
Norbert steadily, thoughtfully. 

Norbert met his gaze ; the boy’s face was strong, 
determined, fearless — the young man’s weak, perplexed, 
angry. Yet presently there dawned in it a gleam of 
kindliness. 

‘You are the most consummate young villain I 
ever saw, but you are a brave one ! I am bound 
to confess that your courage deserves the honour of 
my sword. But then, on the other hand, I cannot 
fight a beardless boy. Would it make things fair, think 
you, if I were to bind one arm to my side and fight 
you with the other ? I have seen it done. Will you 
try it ? ’ 

‘ To what end ? ’ asked Norbert, impatiently, even 
with a touch of scorn. ‘ My life is forfeit, and yours to 
take. I could not save it by wounding you, suppose I 
did so.’ 

‘ Hast aught to ask of me ? * 
i66 


The Genevan Bride 


‘Yes ; to be quick and make an end.’ 

‘You said you ventured in this matter to save your 
father. But he was saved already.’ 

‘ At the cost of another.’ 

‘You call it cost ; I should say the gain of the lady. 
What was she to thee, that thou shouldest do this for 
her?’ 

Then first Norbert felt. All the romance of his 
young life swept over him. And he was about to die ! 
His look changed ; his firm lip began to quiver. 

‘ Nothing — that any one knew,’ he answered. 

Victor looked at him curiously, with quickened 
interest. 

‘ Ha ! by my faith is that it ? Hast thou — a boy, 
a mere child almost — been playing already with these 
sharp tools, whereby a man cuts himself, belike to 
the very heart? Yet why not ? I was young as thou 
when first I began to care for — not the Lady Olive de 
Castelar.’ 

He turned his face away, and silence fell once more 
between the pair. He was too bewildered even to 
reflect how fatally he had betrayed himself to this 
Genevan boy, who would think him a liar and deceiver. 
Nought for that at this moment did he care. He could 
care for nothing, he could see nothing, save the face 
of Arietta. She seemed to stand before him — actually 
there — beside the neglected steeds, who were cropping 
their evening meal of grass as contentedly as if love and 
death were not in the world at all. Arietta looked at 
him, spoke to him, pleaded with him for the life of the 
brave boy who knew, so young, what it was to love — as 
they did. 


167 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

Then gradually her face changed into the diml>‘ 
remembered face of his own mother, who had been a 
gentle-hearted lady, kind and pitiful to all. Amongst 
the very few words he remembered hearing her say were 
these ; * My son, God loves the merciful.’ ‘ Ay,’ he 
thought, ‘ God loves the merciful. Then, perhaps — who 
knows ? — if I show mercy to this boy. He will show the 
like to Arietta and to me, and give us each to other at 
last.’ It was not the very highest of motives ; yet 
perhaps there were nobler impulses struggling in the 
depths of that confused, ill-lighted soul than came forth 
into conscious thought. Besides, it is so easy to be 
kind when one is happy ; and there is no denying that 
Victor’s failure, even weighted with the prospect of his 
father’s terrible wrath, made him happy — infinitely 
happier than success would have done. With the 
sudden decision of the undecided, he turned to 
Norbert. 

‘Your life is forfeit,’ he said ; but there was that in 
his look and tone that belied the sternness of the 
words. 

Norbert bowed. 

‘ Then, boy, I give it thee, for thine own courage, and 
for the love of God. Take thy palfrey, and go back to 
Geneva as thou earnest. Take the next turning to the 
left, so shalt thou avoid my men. I shall tell my 
father — wait ! — yes, I shall tell him that by the sorcery 
of these wicked Genevan heretics the Lady of Castelar 
was enabled to change herself into a hare, and disappear 
from our sight into the wood.’ 

‘God reward you. Sir Count!’ said the delighted 
Norbert, bowing low, then springing on his palfrey. 
i68 


The Genevan Bride 


‘ Hark thee, young cockerel ! ’ Victor resumed, 
‘shouldest ever take it into that hare-brained head of 
thine to save thy soul and make thy fortune among 
good Catholics — come to me, for, on my honour as a 
Gentleman of the Spoon, thou art a lad of mettle, and I 
like thee»* 


169 


CHAPTER XIV 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING 

B erthelier did not return to Geneva on the day he 
left it, or even on the next. That second day, 
the last day of her home-life, as she thought it, 
was to Gabrielle one long-drawn agony. She bore up 
as she best could through its weary hours ; but when 
night came, and her dear adopted father was still absent, 
the sense of desolation overpowered her, and she gave 
way utterly, weeping, sobbing, and crying aloud. 
Marguerite was with sister Claudine, who was still ill in 
bed ; but she heard the sounds of weeping, and hastened 
to her darling. With scarce a word, but with many a 
tender look and gesture, she took her in her strong arms 
and let her sob out all her sorrow. Never had the stern 
Marguerite been so gentle to any one. As at length 
Gabrielle’s cries died away and her sobs abated, she 
whispered a hint of comfort — 

‘ God is good,’ she said ; ‘ there’s many a thing that 
ends better than it began.’ 

‘ I know it,’ sobbed Gabrielle ; ‘ but for this there is 
only one — good end. And I am so young.’ 

Finally Marguerite undressed her, and laid her in 
her own bed. 


170 


An Unexpected Meeting 


‘We need not disturb your aunt,’ she said. Then 
leaving her for a moment, she returned with something 
in a cup. ‘ Here, my little one, is spiced wine and water, 
which I have made hot for thee. Drink it up, ’twill 
make thee sleep.* 

Gabrielle took the cup obediently, and emptied it at 
a draught. 

‘It is very good,* she said. ‘Though the taste, 
methinks, is a little strange.* 

Quite exhausted with her weeping, she sank back on 
the pillow, and Marguerite soon saw with satisfaction 
that she was fast asleep. 

When out of that long, deep, dreamless sleep 
she awoke at last, the sun was shining full into 
the room. She felt as one who has been very 
far away and is coming back — slowly, wonderingly, 
painfully. 

The first thing she realized was, that she was in 
Marguerite’s chamber, not her own. Then gradually 
the truth, like a wave of bitter waters, flowed back upon 
her. Her head was like lead, her eyes were sore with 
weeping. But she would weep no more, she would 
do all that was required of her, ‘and with God be 
the rest.* 

‘ Marguerite,* she said faintly, seeing the old woman’s 
shadow on the bed. ‘ Marguerite 1 * 

‘ Well, child ? * was the answer, not in the caressing 
tones of last night, but in Marguerite’s ordinary 
voice. 

‘ Has my father returned ? * 

‘ Never sign nor token of him. Those ne’er-do-well 
kinsfolk must be keeping him. But there is naught to 
171 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

fear. Bad as they are, they would scarce dare to hurt 
Master Ami Berthelier.* 

* How is the aunt ?' 

‘ Just the same.’ 

As she spoke, and tried to rise, Gabrielle felt an 
overpowering sense of physical misery. Nothing seemed 
possible to her but to lie down and go to sleep again ; 
mindful, however, of all that was before her, she made 
a great effort to shake off the drowsiness that oppressed 
her, and the sickness. 

‘ Where are my clothes ? ’ she asked. 

Her costume for the journey, including mantle, veil 
and hood, had been carefully prepared, and laid in 
readiness for her the evening before. 

‘You need not dress yet,’ said Marguerite. ‘Lie 
down again and go to sleep.’ 

‘ Oh no — no ! I must get up at once. Already it is 
late. I know it. Haste, I beseech thee. Marguerite, 
and bring me the things. Master Antoine promised, if 
my father did not return, to come for me in good time, 
and now I fear it must be nigh upon six of the clock. 
Haste, Marguerite ! ’ 

* There’s no such haste, child.* 

‘ Oh, but yes ! And hark, even now he is knocking 
at the door. What shall I do? Oh, what shall I 
do?* 

A fearful vision arose before her mind, all the 
magnates of Geneva kept waiting — by her ! And, 
perhaps, some mischance befalling the prisoners 
thereby! She sat up in great distress, her sweet 
face flushed, her dark hair streaming over the 
white night-robe, for that age an unusual daintiness. 
172 


An Unexpected Meeting 

And now the knock was on the chamber door, for 
the house - door having been left unbarred, the 
visitor had come in, and followed the sound of the 
voices. Marguerite went and opened — to Germain de 
Caulaincourt. 

Gabrielle, from her position, could only see the top 
of a grey head, and never doubted it was her father's. 
In trembling joy she cried out — 

‘Father — I am so glad! Come to thy poor child, 
and bless her ere she goes.’ 

De Caulaincourt stepped forward, and the two came 
face to face. Never did two human faces express more 
utter, blank amazement. Each thought the other could 
not possibly be there. One, indeed, might be in Geneva, 
if only the other were out of it — that both should be in 
Geneva together passed belief. 

The sensation was like what one would feel if 
confronted with one’s own double. 

‘ M. de Caulaincourt I ’ faltered Gabrielle, finding her 
tongue the first. She was pale as marble now. 

‘Gabrielle Berthelierl’ said De Caulaincourt, in equal 
astonishment 

* Have you escaped — and how — why ? ' Gabrielle 
asked brokenly. 

‘You ask me that.? Am I dreaming, or losing my 
senses? Or is it witchcraft? You, whom I saw two 
hours agone at the Porte Neuve, led away by the young 
count I ’ 

He stopped, and passed his hand over his brow, 
in sudden terror. He had suffered much, and many 
men through suffering had gone mad — why not 
he? 


173 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

* I have only now just awakened/ Gabrielle explained. 
‘ Too late, I fear — too late ! * 

‘ Whom then did I see — whom — or is it all a 
madman’s dream, and am I still in the dungeon of 
Lormayeur ? ’ 

In his surprise he stepped back a pace, and now 
Marguerite came forward, and put herself between the 
two. 

* It is no dream, monsieur/ she said. * I will tell 
you all the truth. But first, I pray of you, tell me one 
thing : Why have you come here just now } * 

‘ Why do you ask ? I have come, naturally, to seek 
my son. I looked that his should be the first face to 
greet me at the Porte Neuve. But he was not there; 
and, what is strange, the Calvins say they have not seen 
him since yesterday. I thought he might be with 
you.’ 

‘M. de Caulaincourt, I will tell you God’s truth. 
One piece of deceit is enough, and too much, for a 
Christian woman to have on her conscience. Your son 
is gone to his death, and my soul to perdition.’ 

‘ Woman, what do you mean ? ’ cried De Caulaincourt, 
in amazement and affright 

‘ Can’t you understand ? He took her place, and I 
helped him.’ 

Then De Caulaincourt, like the patriarch of old, 
‘ trembled very exceedingly.* ‘ My son, my son ! ’ he 
cried aloud in his anguish. But even in that anguish 
remembering Gabrielle’s pain, he turned his face away, 
lest she should see it. 

‘ Oh, Marguerite, is it true ? ’ she gasped in 
dismay. 


174 


An Unexpected Meeting 

* He would not be turned from his purpose ; he 
would not listen to anything. At last I consented, and 
so did your aunt* 

* Consented to that / It was wicked, cruel ! I will 
never trust you again. Now I know what I will do. I 
will go at once to the syndics, tell them all, and beg 
them to send me to Lormayeur. — M. de Caulain- 
court ! * 

He was leaving the room, but turned back again. 
‘My child,’ he said gently, though his voice sounded 
strange to himself, ‘you are not to blame. ’Twas no 
deed of yours. It is done now, for good or ill. And 
God is in Savoy as well as in Geneva.’ 

He passed out, not looking again at Gabrielle, and 
never looking at Marguerite at all. The words in his 
heart were these, ‘ “ Would to God I had died for thee, 
my son, my son ! ” But instead, God help me, I fear 
he has died for me.’ Then came another thought, 
‘And if I but had assurance he was one of God’s 
elect ! * 

Knowing nothing of any other motive for Norbert’s 
action, he had all the bitterness of feeling the boy had 
given his bright young life in exchange for his own 
worn-out, nearly ended one. An ill exchange, and the 
rather because he himself was, not willing alone but 
ready, to go to his God. He had scarce a hope that it 
was thus with Norbert. The earnest, strenuous souls of 
those days, hardened in the furnace of spiritual conflict, 
boldly faced alternatives which our softer tempers evade, 
or put by with vaguely charitable hopes and surmises. 
He, who loved Norbert as his own soul, allowed himself 
no illusions as to Norbert’s spiritual condition — ^yet still 

175 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

he tried to say, ‘Whatsoever God wills to do with him, 
God’s will be done.’ But martyrdom would have been 
nothing in comparison to this. 

Antoine Calvin heard his story in astonishment and 
dismay. And he had answered for the maiden’s identity, 
had sworn to it ! ‘ What will my brother say ? ’ was his 

involuntary thought, as indeed it was wont to be his 
first thought in every emergency. Then came deep 
compassion for the anguished father. Seeing his evident 
exhaustion, he brought him a cup of wine and a piece of 
bread. 

‘ Eat,’ he said, ‘ that you may be able to 
think.’ 

‘Nay,* said De Caulaincourt, ‘I must fast and pray ; 
for I know not whether God will be gracious unto me, 
and to my son.’ 

‘Your son?’ said Antoine very gently, laying his 
hand on his shoulder. ‘ He saved others, himself he did 
not save. Or here or there, his account is with Him of 
whom that was once said.’ 

Large tears welled up in the eyes of De Caulaincourt 
overflowed them — ere he knew it he was weeping with- 
out restraint. Though he had no proof that Norbert 
was ‘elect,’ ‘regenerate,’ ‘mortified,’ was there — might 
there be — after all some link between his wayward boy, 
and Him whom his own soul loved ? 

‘Faint and far, 

As star did touch with silver star,* 

there came to him in that moment a hint, a surmising, 
that God’s purposes of mercy might be wider than man’s 
thoughts of them. 


176 


An Unexpected Meeting 

But presently he started up, dashing his tears 
aside. *I must go to the syndics at once, and tell 
them all,’ he said. ‘Are they — is the council sitting 
now ’ 

‘Yes, the council is sitting; but it has far other 
affairs to think of. M. de Caulaincourt, you cannot get 
a hearing to-day ; and I may say frankly that, if you 
could, nothing would be done? While you were absent, 
the ship of our Genevan State, always exposed to storms 
and pirates, has encountered the direr peril of a mutiny 
on board. Our rulers are in debate just now on the 
fate of the mutineers, the traitors, who, happily for us, 
are under watch and ward in the Evdch^. Though for 
themselves, poor wretches, I fear it will go ill.’ 

He poured into the half-attentive ears of De 
Caulaincourt the story of the sedition of the Libertines, 
their rage against the French exiles, and the conse- 
quences so disastrous to themselves. 

‘ I w'as glad you were not here at that time, M. de 
Caulaincourt,’ he said. 

‘ Would I were not here now ! ’ the Frenchman 
answered sadly. ‘But surely the twenty-five, at least, 
will hear my story.’ 

‘ We will try,’ said Antoine, not very hopefully. 
Then, brightening a little, ‘At all events, we will tell 
iny brother. If anything can be done, he will 
know it.’ 

Meanwhile, next door, Gabrielle was watching and 
waiting with a breaking heart. She, at least, could do 
nothing, so Master Antoine, when she asked, had assured 
her. She must wait for her father’s return. And why 
— oh why — did he not return ? Surely he must have 

177 M 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

met with some terrible misfortune ? As hour after hour 
of this, the fourth day of his absence, dragged slowly on, 
her misery grew almost unendurable. Nor had she even 
:he relief of sympathy, for she held aloof from Claudine 
and Marguerite. There was in her heart a great anger 
against these two, who loved her, and yet had deceived 
her, so ‘wickedly,’ so ‘cruelly/ as she said. True, they 
had done it because they loved her ; but she could not 
yet feel the potency of the plea. 


CHAPTER XV 

A SAVOYARD HOVEL 

N ORBERT de Caulaincourt rode in hot haste 
through the wood, urging on his tired palfrey 
with voice and spur. He knew not what he did ; 
he was as one drunk with strong wine — the glorious 
wine of life. With a resolute hand he had put the 
scarcely tasted draught aside, and now, behold ! it was 
given him back again. That wine was red ; it gave its 
colour in the cup ; it moved itself aright ; it gleamed 
and sparkled like ten thousand jewels. Thus, with light 
and joy in his heart, he rode on and on through the 
dim forest paths, which made yet darker the soft 
darkness of the still May night. 

All at once his hand slackened on the rein, and his 
steed was only too willing to slacken his pace also, and 
to drop into a listless, shambling walk. The fact was, 
Norbert’s young brain and nerves, held for four days by 
sheer strength of will at their uttermost tension, now 
suddenly revolted, and refused to work any longer. 
Utter weariness swept over him like a flood ; he must 
sleep, or he would die. 

The place was dark and still, and lonely as the 
179 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

grave. What had he to fear? He dismounted, tied 
the palfrey to a tree, lay down on the grass, and in five 
seconds was fast asleep. It was one of those sleeps 
which put a solid bar between the before and after. 
We awake in a sense new made, all the cares and 
worries of yesterday gone from us, and heart and brain 
bathed afresh in the fountain of life. Is it not a faint 
foreshadowing of what the sleep of death will do for 
that mortal part of us which wearies and longs for rest, 
while in some mysterious way the immortal spirit will 
still hold living communion with its Maker and 
Redeemer ? 

The sun was up when Norbert awoke, yawned, 
stretched, and looked about him. His bones were 
aching, for Mother Earth does not offer her children the 
softest of sleeping-places. That was a small trouble. 
The sky above him showed blue through the tender 
green of the foliage, and somewhere up there in the 
branches a bird was singing. There was no other sound, 
save, close at hand, the champ of his steed, taking his 
morning meal with great leisure and evident satisfaction. 
Norbert wished he could as easily satisfy his own 
hunger. At the girdle of his riding robe there hung a 
purse, not full, indeed, as Berthelier would have had 
it, but still containing a few crowns. These would 
procure food, if only he couM find anywhere to get it. 
But how go in this gear? He sat up, and looked 
himself over in blank dismay, giving a long groan of 
perplexity, which ended, however, in a burst of hearty 
laughter. 

But the laughter passed, and the perplexity remained. 
How was a young lady, ^and a very beautiful young 
i8o 


A Savoyard Hovel 

lady,’ Norbert said to himself, to make her way, without 
protection or escort, through the wild and lawless district 
of Savoy, between the place where he was and the 
Genevese territory ? Would that young Count of 
Lormayeur (whom Providence reward !) had but added 
to his kindnesses the present of a page’s dress ; probably 
he would have done it if asked, but Norbert had been 
far too dazed and bewildered to ask him. 

There was nothing for him now but to mount his 
palfrey, just as he was, and turn his face steadily 
towards Geneva. He just knew the direction he should 
take — the way he was far from knowing. But clearly 
it was his first business to get out of the wood. He 
found the path he had been taking the night before, 
and thought he could not do better than follow it 
still. 

Of the adventures and misadventures of that long, 
weary, perplexing day he never afterwards cared to 
talk. If forced to do it, he would sum up his 
experiences in such words as these — 

‘ At least ten times I lost my way. As an 
unprotected damsel, I was afraid to go near the 
villages, lest the folk should do me a mischief, or make 
me a prisoner and hold me to ransom. Once I met a 
lad of my own size, and asked him to change clothes 
with me. When he refused, I offered to fight him 
for his, and throw mine into the bargain, but he ran 
away, shrieking out that I was a witch. I pursued and 
caught him, telling him that I was no witch, but an 
honest lad out upon a frolic, and wanting to get home. 
Whereat he called me, “ He that has no white in his 
eyes,” meaning the Evil One himself, slipped out of my 
i8i 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

hands and ran for his life. Finally, to crown my 
mishaps, the palfrey lost a shoe.* 

When this last misfortune overtook Norbert, it was 
near nightfall, and he suspected he was already far out 
of his way. It was better for him to stay where he was 
until the morning. But he could not safely rest in 
the open, as he had done the night before ; for he was 
now in an inhabited place — there might be passers-by. 
Bemoaning, for the twentieth time, his unfortunate 
disguise, he began to look out for a cottage where he 
might find refuge. 

At last he saw in the deepening twilight a hovel of 
the humblest kind, probably the dwelling of a labourer 
or wine-dresser. 

‘ For one of these crowns the “ Grey-foot ** will be 
glad enough to feed and shelter me,’ he thought ; 
‘ only I must not let him see I have more than one, or 
he may rob and murder me.’ 

He dismounted, fastened his palfrey to a tree at a 
little distance, went to the rough wooden door, and 
knocked. 

At first no one answered, but when he repeated his 
knock, a low voice bade him lift the *pin,’ or latch, and 
come in. He did so, and at first saw no one in the dark 
interior. But as his eyes grew accustomed to the 
dimness, he discerned, in the corner farthest from the 
door, a bed and a sick man lying on it. Another look 
showed him white hair, and a bandaged arm and 
shoulder. 

While he hesitated what to do, a voice came from 
the bed, and its tones were strangely familiar. 

‘My mind wanders— ah, yes, I know it! But I 
182 


A Savoyard Hovel 

am glad, since it brings me such a dream as this, 
Gabriel le/ 

In wonder and amazement Norbert drew near, bent 
down close to the sick man, and saw. 

‘ Master Berthelier ! ’ he cried out. 

* The voice is not Gabrielle’s. But then that is to be 
looked for. So dreams and sick men’s fancies change 
and melt, one passing into another. The robe is 
Gabrielle’s — the costly fur-trimmed robe I bought her 
for the journey.’ 

‘True, Master Berthelier, and * 

‘Yes, Gabrielle’s apparel, but the voice of young 
Norbert de Caulaincourt.’ 

Norbert knew that Berthelier had gone beyond the 
boundaries of Geneva, and more than suspected he had 
gone to fetch money for Gabrielle. What more natural 
than that, in returning with it through that lawless 
district, he had been robbed and wounded ? Only 
he could not understand why he should have been 
returning through Savoyard territory, and not through 
Bernese. Either, or both of them, must be far out of 
their way, else certainly their paths could not have 
crossed. 

‘Master Berthelier,’ he said, ‘fear nothing. You 
are neither dreaming nor wandering, but in your right 
mind. I am Norbert de Caulaincourt.’ 

‘ But how ? Why ? What brings you here ? And 
in that garb ? ’ 

‘ First let me give you the joy of knowing its owner 
is safe at home, in Geneva. As for me, I have had a 
merry day’s ride with the young Count of Lormayeur, 
and a good companion he is.’ 

183 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

* I understand nought of this. I have a fever, and 
am wandering.’ 

‘ Feel my hand, master. You will know it is 
not a lady’s palm, but a lad’s hard fist, that has dealt 
many a shrewd blow. And see — there is light enough 
still.’ He threw off his headgear, and stood in the 
best light of the unglazed hole that served for a 
window. 

‘Norbert!’ 

*Yes, Norbert, in the garb of the Damoiselle 
Gabrielle. How save her else ? ’ 

‘ She would never have allowed it.* 

‘ She was never asked. We gave her a potion.* 

‘We? Who?’ 

‘ Only three knew the secret, Mademoiselle Claudine, 
Marguerite, and myself.’ 

‘ Claudine too ? It passes belief.* 

‘ We persuaded her. But it was brave old Marguerite 
who contrived, and planned, and arranged all about 
the dress. And fortune befriended me, for you were 
away. And that being so. Master Antoine Calvin had 
to act the father’s part by the maiden, and give her up 
to the Savoyards. So he — good easy man — did after 
the manner of his trade ; the binding being all right, he 
never cast a glance within it. And I took care to keep 
my face well hid with my veil, like a very modest and 
sore distressed young lady. If on the way to the 
Porte Neuve any of the honest burghers spoke a 
word to me, I was far too overcome with grief and 
terror to do more than murmur an answer without 
lookirig up.’ 

‘Wonderful!’ said Berthelier. There was a long 
184 


A Savoyard Hovel 

pause, then he spoke again. ‘My son, thou art like 
that warrior of old, who at the same time was fined for 
disobedience and crowned for a glorious victory. What 
thou hast done is naught — very naught. But then 

also it is — it is * Here his voice broke, and he 

murmured instinctively, ‘God bless thee, Norbert de 
Caulaincourt 1 ' 


185 


CHAPTER XVI 


AMI BERTHELIER FINDS A FRIEND 

P RESENTLY the door of the hovel was pushed open 
and a bent, withered, white-haired old woman 
came in. ‘ Mother,’ Berthelier said to her, ‘ here 
is another guest for thee.’ He spoke to her in the 
Savoyard patois, having previously been talking French 
to Norbert, to whom he whispered in that tongue : 

* She lives alone ; her husband was killed in battle, her 
son in a fray with robbers. Her grandson has gone 
away, she knows not whither.* 

Seeing a lady’s robe in the dark, the poor old 
creature murmured, ‘Alack, the fine young lady,’ then 
turned up the smouldering fire, fed it with sticks, and 
set a pot upon it. 

‘ Poor soul,’ Berthelier said, ‘ she is nearly as ignorant 
as thy steed — by the way, where hast thou left him all 
this time ? ’ 

‘ Tied to a tree out yonder. I forgot him in the 
surprise of seeing you. What can I do with him ? * 

‘ Do you ask “ What ought I to do ? ” Is there a 
moon ? * 

‘ Not yet. I think ’twill rise about midnight* 

No doubt your steed is tired, and yourself — ^yet, 
I86 


Ami Berthelier finds a Friend 

M. Norbert, I would pray of you to mount again this 
night, and ride, whip and spur, to Geneva.* 

‘To Geneva!* He could not keep out of his voice 
the dismay that filled him at the thought. 

‘ Even so.* 

* But the very way I do not know. I must have 
wandered far out of it yesterday. Where are we now, 
Master Berthelier ? * 

‘ Close to the lake. I thought to go by water from 
Pregny to Geneva, but the rascally fisherman who 
undertook to bring me landed me here instead. And 
you — you must have wandered far. Yet, after all, a 
three hours’ ride or so will bring you home.* 

‘ Master Berthelier, if you came here by boat all the 
way from Pregny, how chanced it you were robbed and 
wounded ? * 

‘ Norbert, thou art in some ways a wise lad. Canst 
give that greatest proof of wisdom — the holding of thy 
tongue ? * 

‘ I think so.* 

‘ Then hearken. It is my earnest wish, it may be my 
last wish, that none should know how I came by this 
wound. Not thyself even. And I pray thee, if any 
ask of thee, just say, “ He fell among thieves.** * 

‘I understand. But I pray you, master, do not 
talk of last wishes.* 

Here their poor old hostess broke in upon their talk. 
She placed before Berthelier a shallow wooden bowl, 
not too clean, into which she had poured a steaming 
portion of the contents of the pot au feu — a kind of 
thick pottage made of roots, chiefly of parsnips — then 
giving him a clumsy wooden spoon, she prayed him to 

187 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

eat, with genuine good-will. Norbert she beckoned to 
the table, in the centre of which a hollow had been 
scooped out that served at once for dish and platter. 
She had already filled it with the pottage, and having 
supplied her guest with a spoon wherewith to eat it, had 
fulfilled, to the utmost of her power, the duties of 
hospitality. He, on his part, was far too hungry not to 
do justice to the fare, homely though it was. When he 
thought they had finished, he asked his hostess if he 
might have something also for his horse. 

She assented willingly. It was quite in accordance 
with her ideas that the horses of gentlefolk should eat 
the food of poor Christians, and Norbert accordingly 
was able to bring the palfrey a fair equivalent for 
the ‘warm mash’ of a modern stableman. He then 
fastened him securely for the night to a post near the 
cabin. 

While he was thus engaged. Berth elier explained to 
old Babet that the boy was from Geneva, and was a 
friend of his ; that he had dressed himself, for a frolic, 
in the clothes of a young maid, but that he would now 
lend him his, and let him go home. The boy, in return 
would tell his friends where he was, and get them to 
send and fetch him. 

Babet was very dull, very ignorant ; yet in her 
‘dimly-lighted soul’ there was one little window, 
through which a ray of light stole in. She was always 
trying to do kindnesses. She could never see a need or 
a pain without at least an effort to help and soothe it. 
She had the vaguest idea who her guests might be — 
and if they had tried to tell her she would not have 
understood — but she understood quite well that they 
188 


Ami Berthelier finds a Friend 


were hungry, so they should have food ; they were 
weary, so they should rest. 

Norbert, at least, was thoroughly weary. He told 
Berthelier that if he were to set out for Geneva at 
midnight, when the moon was up, he might chance to 
drop off his horse from fatigue. But even suppose 
he came safely, to what use } He would be too early 
to do any good. Besides, his horse had cast a shoe. 

This was decisive. Berthelier bade him sleep till 
daybreak, then he would arouse him, and he could 
take the palfrey to a forge, not far distant, and ride on 
from that to Geneva. 

‘ In the morning I will give you a message to 
the syndics,’ he said. ‘You must see them at once.’ 

Babet, already settling for the night, showed Norbert 
a warm corner where he might lie down. Before he 
did so, however, he asked Berthelier — 

‘ Can I not do something to make you comfort- 
able .? I might change, perhaps, the bandage on your 
wound.’ 

‘ It needs not. Babet is a good enough barber- 
surgeon for me — still, if you could fetch me a little 
clear water from the stream outside, and leave it beside 


Norbert did so, then lay down in his corner, with 
Gabrielle’s fur-trimmed robe for blanket and coverlet. 
The next moment, as he thought, he heard Berthelier 
calling him. He sprang to his feet, rubbed his eyes, 
looked about him, and felt ready for whatever fate 
might send. 

It seemed better to him, on reflection, to retain the 
dress he wore, though Berthelier offered to lend him his. 

189 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

He thought his friend might be placed in great difficulty, 
perhaps in danger, by the want of it ; whilst he would 
enter the town very early, go home at once, and put on 
his own clothes before any one saw him, .except the 
town watch. He told Berthelier he would send him 
help as speedily as he could. 

‘That matters little,’ was the answer. ‘Don’t let 
them run any risk. But stoop down, that I may give 
you my message for the syndics.’ 

There was no fear of listeners ; for old Babet, at the 
farther end of the hovel, was fast asleep. Perhaps it 
was to save his own voice that Berthelier spoke low into 
Norbert’s ear. Or perhaps he was ashamed, bitterly 
ashamed, of the tale he had to tell, ashamed likewise 
of the name he bore — that name of which heretofore 
he had been so proud. A listener, had such been 
there, might have caught the names, Philibert, Daniel, 
Comparet, Hubert d’Audriol. Then a mention of the 
Ev^ch4 and a word about the boatmen, and their heavy 
two-handed swords. ‘ Now, boy, you understand, you 
will remember ? ’ said Berthelier anxiously at the close. 

‘Depend on me, sir,* said Norbert, evidently much 
impressed. ‘The thing is too strange and too terrible 
to forget, especially for a French exile, and the son of 
one who has received the freedom of the city.’ 

‘ I am giving Daniel up to the hangman, though the 
same blood flows in these veins,’ said Berthelier with 
emotion. ‘Can you marvel, Norbert, that I care not 
greatly to go home? Nor shall it grieve me much if 
death find me here.’ 

‘ Master Berthelier, you must not talk so. Think of 
Mademoiselle Gabrielle.’ 

190 


Ami Berthelier finds a Friend 


‘I do think of her. After this it may be best sh 
should call herself Gabrielle — or Olive — de Castelar. 
After all, it is her name. But we must think now — of 
Geneva. You understand all ? There is not a moment 
to lose. You will go straight to the syndics and the 
Council, and tell them my tale, word for word.* 

* Trust me, master. And see, here be three crowns, 
your own money too, laid ready in the purse of 
mademoiselle. These smaller coin will pay the smith 
and get me some bread by the way.* 

‘ Thanks, I am glad of somewhat to give our hostess. 
Go, and God speed thee. Farewell* 

‘ Not farewell, for I will return,* said Norbert to 
himself as he passed out. 

Berthelier lay still and listened, until the sound of 
the palfrey*s hoofs had died away. ‘ Bless the lad ! ’ he 
thought ‘What a marvellous thing he has done ! The 
conception wonderful ! The execution, in its daring and 
audacity, past belief. But what will Master Calvin — 
what will the syndics say? And young Lormayeur, 
what a fool he must have been, not to look better to his 
bargain ! Had that old fox, his father, been there, the 
cheat would not have been so easy. But it saved 
Gabrielle — and I may see her again ! * Ere he knew it 
the tears were in his eyes — were falling. 

Then his thoughts reverted to himself ; all that 
happened since he left Geneva came back upon his 
mind, and passed before it in due order and succession. 
He recalled the courteous and even cordial reception of 
Philibert Berthelier and his friend and host Ami Perrin, 
with Philibert’s ready consent to find for him the funds 
he needed. ‘ So that is what you want, my good 
191 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

cousin?* said the chief of the Libertines. ‘"Money,” 
quoth he "money,” like all the rest of the world. Well, 
I have it not. When, I pray you, had a Berthelier so 
much as a spare crown in his purse ? But then, I have 
some little credit ; and my good friend Master Perrin 
has more. Between us, doubt not we shall send your 
pretty dove forth upon her flight with her wings well 
gilded. I shall see to the matter at once, and it shall 
be put through before supper, when thou and I shall 
empty a flute of the best wine of Beaume to the health 
and happiness of the fair traveller. Who talks of 
repayment? The young lady may pay us when she 
comes into her inheritance.’ 

Philibert’s look, as he spoke thus, reminded Ami 
Berthelier of his illustrious father, to whom in the old 
days he had been as Jonathan to David. And now that 
he lay there, thinking over the past, it turned his tears 
to ‘ sparks of fire,’ to know that his cousin all the time 
had been playing on his weakness, because he needed 
just such an emissary to concert his treasonable designs 
with his accomplices in Geneva. 

Then came the banquet, the carouse. Ami Berthelier 
wondered if he, in his youth, had actually taken part in 
such scenes, and enjoyed them. Had he drained his 
wine glass — far more often than he cared to remember 
— to the very last drop, then poured that drop out to 
make ‘ a ruby on the nail ? ’ Had he honoured the 
toasts — and often such toasts — with uproarious shouts 
and noisy rappings on the table with his knife handle ? 
Had he seasoned his draughts with oath, and song, and 
jest that he blushed to think of now — he that had made 
himself the guardian of Gabrielle’s innocent youth? 

192 


Ami Berthelier finds a Friend 


Now he found the whole scene quite as abhorrent to 
his taste as to his principles. 

When the strong wine had circulated freely, they 
drank to the Liberties of Geneva, and Philibert said he 
knew how heartily his cousin would honour that toast. 
But he explained that he meant her true liberties, not 
the sham ones, which only meant a change of tyrants. 
How were ministers better than priests and bishops ? 
Then the others all chimed in, denouncing the utter 
detestableness of the new order of things. Curses — in 
this case not deep, perhaps, but certainly loud — were 
hurled upon Master Calvin, or ^Cain,* as they called 
him, and all his aiders and abettors. Then followed 
nods and winks, vague hints and mysterious whispers. 
* A time is coming, friends ; oh yes, a time is coming. 
We shall soon see great changes ; * with much more of 
the same kind. ‘But we must be prudent,’ suggested 
some one, a shade more sober than the rest, with a 
warning glance in Ami’s direction. At which Philibert, 
who had drowned in the wine-cup the little caution he 
ever possessed, laid a friendly hand on his cousin’s 
shoulder. ‘Never fear him,’ he said. ‘Is he not a 
Berthelier? He is our good friend, who is going to 
help us.’ 

Then ‘’twixt the wine-cup and the wine,’ there was 
unfolded to Ami Berthelier the part he was expected to 
play, and the message he was to carry back to Geneva. 
Philibert would return, and lead the fishermen and 
boatmen once more. Daniel and the other captives 
were to break prison, and join them. Together they 
would raise the town, kill or drive away the French, 
and make an end of the reign of the saints. Even the 
193 N 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

reckless Philibert, in his sober senses, would not have 
unmasked his designs so soon or so utterly. 

Ami Berthelier listened with horror. He had, 
with much difficulty, avoided actual excess, yet the 
unaccustomed strength of the wine he had been 
obliged to drink stirred his blood and heated his 
brain. When the son of the hero and martyr of 
Geneva found words to ask him — him, who had shared 
his sufferings — to betray Geneva and destroy her, his 
soul straightway went on fire. With indignant scorn, 
which he took no pains to measure or to soften, he 
flung back the base proposal. It was no wonder that 
rage answered scorn, for his words, though he knew it 
not, seared and burned like vitriol. Angry tones were 
heard, threatening hands were laid upon s vord hilts. 
Presently a foolish young Libertine, quite intoxicated, 
threw a glass of wine in his face. But another checked 
him, saying, ‘That’s too bad, Jacquot. If M. Ami 
Berthelier asks for satisfaction, he is within his 
rights.’ 

‘ Doubtless the young gentleman knows I cannot 
fight, being lame,* said Ami Berthelier, as he rose and, 
with a courteous gesture of farewell to M. Perrin their 
host, turned to the door. 

‘ Stop him ! stop him ! ’ was the general cry. All 
sprang to their feet, saying, some one thing, some 
another, but the meaning of all was this : ‘ He must 
not go, he knows too much.’ Philibert intercepted 
him, the others crowding round. He raised his arm 
to put his cousin aside, Philibert’s sword flashed out, 
and in another moment was red with the blood of Ami. 
A scuffle ensued. Ami, nigh to fainting, could n< t tell 
194 


Ami Bertlielier finds a Friend 


what happened, save that he thought he was being 
pulled to pieces. But at last some one — it was the 
young man who had reproved Jacquut — tore the door 
open, saying : ‘ Go — go — or they will kill you ! * 

In the open air his senses came back to him, and he 
sat down and considered what to do. But, as he was 
thinking where to find his horse, and how he could 
manage, wounded as he was, to ride back to Geneva, 
the door shook, and he fancied the revellers inside were 
going to open it. In the strength of his fear he rose 
and walked on towards the little town of Pregny. On 
his way he met a peasant who worked on Perrin’s 
estate. He told him he was a Genevan who had come 
on business to his master, but that he had met with an 
accident, and was now anxious to return home by the 
lake. The man took him to his cottage, bound up his 
wound in rough fashion, and told him that his brother, 
who was a fisherman, was actually going to Geneva that 
very night : would his worthiness be able, with help, to 
walk down to the beach and get on board the fishing- 
smack ? All Berthelier’s longing was to get to Geneva 
and tell his tale — if he died for it the next hour. So 
his soul ‘held his body strengthened’ for the work. 
All the more bitter was his disappointment when the 
fisherman, meeting comrades he wished to join, broke 
his bargain, and set his passenger down on Savoyard 
territory, scarcely nearer to the town than Pregny. Ill, 
feverish, and in much suffering from his wound, he made 
his way somehow to the hovel of Babet, and was glad 
to lie down on her wretched bed, as he said to himself, 
to die. 

Yet it was life, not death, which surged through his 

195 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

soul that dim morning hour when Norbert left him. Once 
more he felt himself alone ; for poor Babet’s presence 
was no disturbance, while perhaps it lent him a shadow 
of human companionship, which kept loneliness from 
being desolation. Besides, she might sleep for hours, 
for it was yet but the breaking of the day. 

His thoughts went back to the old times in the 
dungeon of Peney, where he had lain, as he lay now, 
in weakness, weariness, and pain. Better then than 
now, for then, though faith in many things had failed, 
faith in one thing was left him still — he believed in 
liberty. It still seemed worth while to him to suffer 
and to die that Geneva might be free. Well, he had 
lived to see Geneva free — and how much the belter 
for it, after all ? Did freedom mean the rule of the 
consistory — a band of fanatical pastors and elders, all 
at the beck and call of one ambitious, clever Frenchman 
who had shaken off the yoke of Rome to put his own 
instead of it? He knew, however, what freedom did 
not mean. Not the overthrow of Calvin and the saints, 
and the substitution of Philibert Berthelier and the 
Libertines. No ; that last error would be worse than 
the first. ‘ I have given my life to prevent it,’ he thought. 
‘ And I do not regret it’ 

‘ What, then, of all the past do I regret ? ’ was his 
next thought. ^ Nothing — absolutely nothing perhaps 
by itself — but the whole, as a whole. What good has 
my life been to myself, or to any one else ? When I 
am judged, the most that can be said for me is this : 
“ Twice over in his life he might have done harm, and 
refused, at some cost to himself.” What is that to stand 
out, as the best of a man’s record upon earth ? * 

196 


Ami Berthelier finds a Friend 


‘When I am judged’ Was there then such a 
thing, after all, as a judgment to come ? Berthelier felt 
sure that, if there were, his place would be with the 
condemned. And yet he longed for it, cried out for 
it, with his whole heart and soul and strength ! It was 
far more intolerable to think that right should never 
be vindicated, that wrong should triumph always, than 
that he, a unit amongst millions, should stand convicted 
as the failure he knew he was. He had had his chances ; 
it was his own fault if he lost them. He had lived his 
life ; and in his retrospect now, that life was not all 
bitter. Had he not the memories of his youth, of the 
years before the Deluge — the glad, strong, eager years 
when everything seemed possible to him ? The years 
when he hoped, waited, dreamed — and, more than 
all, when he loved } True, they were soon over. Soon 
hope had vanished, trust was betrayed, dreams were 
shattered, love itself was quenched in the grave. All 
was gone. What matter? he himself was going too. 
Out of darkness all came, into darkness all went again. 
That was the end. 

Yet in his day he had tried to do something which 
might count as a man’s work in the world, which might 
not perish all. His soul had gone out in the patriot’s 
passion, which meant, for him, devotion to the city that 
was his fatherland. Was it all, indeed, for Geneva’s 
dear sake? Had he not ambitions of his own? Used 
he not to think often of the great citizens of Greece 
and Rome, and to dream of a name like theirs, a name 
that Geneva at least would not willingly let die ? Though 
quite ready, in the young enthusiasm of his hero worship, 
to stand in the shadow of his great kinsman, still he 
197 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

hoped to be the second Berthelier, the worthy friend and 
helper of the first 

But now the noble name of Berthelier was stained, 
past repair. Philibert and Daniel Bethelier were 
traitors ; the one was in prison, and the other in exile ; 
not, like their father, for a good cause, but for a very 
bad one. Whilst he himself stood alone, an outcast 
from both parties, ‘ contrary to all men,’ despised and 
rejected. 

‘ Despised and rejected .? * The words were familiar. 
Of whom had he heard them said ? He thought for a 
moment. Then he remembered. They were in the 
Bible ; part of a text such as Master Calvin would preach 
from, using long words, like election, predestination, 
justification. To him these were dreary abstractions 
without meaning. Still, the words haunted him. They 
ran thus : ‘ He was despised and rejected of men,’ as if 
spoken of a man whose portion, like his own, had been 
contempt and failure. 

Gradually, as he pondered, there rose up and took 
shape within him the conception of the human Christ 
He was used to think of Socrates and other great 
heathens as men like himself — why not the Man of 
Nazareth? And yet the thought was new, startling, 
wonderful. Because — so he put it to himself — his mind 
all his life had been confused by the nonsense which 
Papists and Reformed alike were wont to talk. He did 
not believe, with them, that Christ was* a strange, 
mysterious Being, whom one could not think about with 
any reasonableness, save just as part of a system, that 
clever system which Master Calvin had explained with 
such great perspicuity in the Institutes of the Christian 
198 


Ami Berthelier finds a Friend 


Religion, One could not believe all that ; but one 
might, and could, and must believe that there was once 
a Man called Jesus Christ, who tried in His day to do 
good to men — and failed. 

The thought was soothing and helpful. It was as if, 
in his loneliness, some one had come to be with him, to 
stand by him. Perhaps, in the rest it gave him, a slight 
slumber stole over his senses, for the consciousness of a 
Presence grew and grew, till it seemed to fill all the 
room. He saw nothing, heard nothing, yet he knew it 
was there. Or rather, One was there, who had been 
despised and rejected, yet was now 

What was He now ? The question woke him up 
thoroughly ; he tried to think it out. Yes, he remembered 
the history, which he had never thought of before as a 
man’s history, only as part of a Church’s creed. He 
had failed, for the Jews would not believe in Him : ‘ He 
came to His own, and His own received Him not.’ 
And then, at last, He was crucified, and by the very 
people He had tried to help. How crushed, disappointed, 
how bitter of soul He must have been ! ‘ Indeed,’ 

pursued Berthelier, ‘ if I remember right, I think He 
said so : “ My soul is sorrowful exceedingly,” or words 
like that. But was that the end ? How did He come 
to think of it all afterwards ? 

‘ If I could speak to Him, and ask — but there, to be 
sure men do speak to Him every day, for they believe 
that He sits at God’s right hand, is God Himself indeed. 
And they prayed. I do not know. I know nothing ; I 
am a wanderer in the dark whose candle has gone out. 
But if, at least, so much as this one might believe, might 
hope, that “despised, rejected, crucified,” did not end 
199 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

all the story — that these were but a dark passage into 
light beyond — why, then, for others too there might be 
light. 

‘But then,* thought Berthelier, ‘His failure, His 
rejection, was quite undeserved.’ He tried to remember 
all He could of the story of that life and death, which 
presently he summed up : ‘ Yes, He deserved success 
and victory, if man ever did. He never sinned against 
His own nature, fell short of cleaving to His purpose. 
On that white robe of His there was blood indeed, but 
no stain of sin. It was good to think that One at least 
had proved Himself worthy of all trust and all honour. 
Perhaps men were right in thinking that such an one 
had not perished, could not perish. Could He That 
was the question ; everything turned upon that. If His 
defeat were final, if all ended there, then is evil stronger 
than good, and it will prevail.’ 

Berthelier could not believe it, any more than he 
could believe that the sun which set the night before 
would never rise again upon the world. No ; all 
Christendom must be right in saying that He lived, 
that even now He sat a Victor in heaven. But if so, 
Christendom was right also in saying that men might 
speak to Him, and ask — but what should he ask ? What 
was it that he had longed so to ask of Him? All the 
longing passed from him, it melted away in the very joy, 
the great, wonderful joy of believing He really was. 
He lived ; He was somewhere in the world, to be 
admired, loved, trusted. Perhaps even He might teach 
others the secret of His victory, that they, after pain 
and failure like that which He had suffered — perhaps 
after mistakes too which He had not made — should also 
200 


Ami Berthelier finds a Friend 


gain the victory. Yet for that, at least for his own 
possible share in it, he was not anxious. Enough if 
right had triumphed — and Christ. 

Just then the first rays of the rising sun stole in 
through the little window. ‘The suii has risen,’ said 
Berthelier to himself. Old Babet stirred in her corner, 
and the next moment was on her knees, muttering a 
Pater Noster. 

‘Pater Noster — Our Father,’ Berthelier thought; 
‘that is the prayer of Christ. It was He who taught 
men to say to the Infinite and the Everlasting, Our 
Father! He knew what He said, and told men no 
falsehoods. What if this were true ? What if, at the 
centre of everything, there was the heart of the Father, 
and that He, the Son, came to reveal it? * 


CHAPTER XVII 

BEFORE THE GREAT COUNCIL 

U PON that same May morning the noble hall in 
Geneva where Calvin was wont to lecture to his 
crowd of eager students was the scene of a very 
different assembly. The Great or General Council of 
the citizens held its meeting there. The canopied chair 
of state at the end of the hall, where of old sat the 
Franciscan prior, was occupied now, not by Master 
John Calvin, but by Syndic Amblarde Come, with his 
black baton of office on the table before him. His three 
colleagues with their batons sat beside, and the stalls 
near them that lined the wall accommodated the Council 
of Twenty-five. Facing them in close serried rows 'on 
the front benches, sat the legitimate members of the 
Great Council, all of them enrolled and registered 
citizens of Geneva. But behind and about them, 
in every corner of the hall, surged and crowded a 
tumultuous mass, growing more and more, till scarce 
standing room was left. Some clung to the pillars, 
some got up into the windows and stood in the 
embrasures, others were fain to content themselves about 
the doors, or thronged the corridors and staircases. 

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202 



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Before the Great Council 


and buzzing, ‘ like that of a swarm of bees,’ but varied 
with occasional shouts and outcries. * A plague upon 
your saints * ! — * Aha, the Libertine ! Knock him down — 
turn him out! ’ ‘Down with the consistory!’ ‘To the 
Rhone with the lot of you ! ’ ‘ Order ! Order ! ’ ‘ Hush 

citizens ! — the first syndic is speaking. Order, I say ! 
Order ! ’ 

Order was at last established, and silence enough 
obtained to enable the greater part of the assembly to 
hear the voice of Amblarde Come. And as they heard, 
the silence deepened, for his words were of interest to 
them all. He spoke of the late tumults, ‘ stirred up by 
certain persons of evil intent, unruly citizens, and bad 
companions ; ’ of their intention, thinly veiled, to bring 
to naught the greatness and the polity of Geneva, and 
to make her a prey to discord and disorder. With 
God’s good blessing they would not succeed, but would 
rather leave themselves exposed to condign and well- 
merited punishment. They alleged as their pretext the 
dangers of foreign influence, and especially of that of 
the French exiles, now domiciled amongst them. But 
every one knew that these worthy and honourable 
persons ’ 

Here a disturbance at the bottom of the hall, which 
had been growing for some minutes, assumed proportions 
which could not be ignored. The speaker paused to 
administer a stern rebuke. 

Then some one from a near bench pushed forward 
and said, ‘ Please, your worthiness, it is a person with 
tidings which seem to be of importance. He demands 
speech with the honourable syndics ; but he cannot 
get through the press.’ 


203 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

* Make way for him then — we will all hear him,' 
said Syndic Come ; and the cry, ‘ Make way— make 
way ! ’ rang through the hall. 

Not so easy to obey it, in that throng ! However, 
with time and pains the thing was done. Two men of 
the city watch, with a slight figure in a lady’s robe, 
stood before the syndics. 

‘ Holy saints ! What have we here ? A girl ? ’ 
cried a member of the council, never identified, for 
no cne would own to the un-Protestant exclamation. 
A start and movement of surprise ran through them 
all. 

The first syndic, as was meet, found voice the first. 

‘ What is all this ? ’ he asked. ‘ What mean you, city 
watch, by bringing this maiden hither ? ’ 

‘ Please your honourablenesses, she is a boy,’ began 
one. 

‘ Most worthy syndics, he is Norbert de Caulaincourt, 
and he comes to us with tidings from Pregny,’ the other 
explained, more lucidly. 

‘ Speak then, maiden, or young man, whichever thou 
art,’ said the first syndic. But as he spoke he recognized 
with a start the fur-trimmed robe whose wearer he had 
himself delivered up to the Savoyards at the Porte 
Neuve. By this time Norbert’s story was known in the 
city ; though the surprise and excitement it would 
otherwise have created was swallowed up in the imminent 
and all-engrossing Libertine ' Terror.’ 

Meanwhile Norbert, overcome with shame and 
embarrassment, struggled to find his voice. ‘’Tis the 
fault of the watch,’ he said, ‘ they would not let me go 
home and change.’ 


204 


Before the Great Council 


* Never mind thy garments, but answer plainly — 
Who art thou ? ’ 

‘ I am Norbert de Caulaincourt/ 

A murmur ran round the hall. The hero of the 
desperate adventure had been given up by every one as 
lost. There was joy as well as wonder in the sound. 
Some began to cheer and acclaim aloud, though cries 
of another nature were not wanting. ‘ He deceived us,’ — 
‘ Brought us into evil odour with the Savoyards ’ — 
‘ Transgressed the commands of Holy Scripture, as 
given unto — ’ ‘No! No! No!’ ‘He saved a maiden 
of Geneva ’ — ‘ He risked his life.’ ‘ He is une brave jeum 
homme! ‘ He is a French exile and a traitor.’ 

With some difficulty the rising tumult was quelled 
sufficiently for the grave voice of Amblarde Come to 
make itself heard. 

‘ It will be time enough to inquire into the case of 
this young man when we have heard the tidings which, 
the watch says, he brings to us from Pregny. Norbert 
de Caulaincourt, how earnest thou to Pregny ? ’ 

* I was not in Pregny, which is Bernese territory, 
but — on my way home hither, I met Master Ami. 
Berthelier, who was. The message is from him.* " 

‘ Now tell the honourable council whatsoever Master 
Ami Berthelier has bidden thee to say.’ 

Norbert happily had one of those minds which a 
great peril or a great occasion clears and steadies, in 
place of distracting. He spoke out bravely, and told 
his story so that all could understand. From his young 
lips, without pause or hesitancy, came the fateful words 
that took from Daniel Berthelier and his accomplices 
their last chance of life. After this, every man present 
205 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

there knew that the doom of the traitors was sealed. 
Even that tumultuous assembly was awed into a solemn 
silence, far more impressive than any amount of noise 
and outcry. 

‘ We will debate presently upon this matter,’ the first 
syndic said quietly. ‘ As for thee, Norbert de Caulaincourt, 
thou wilt have to answer before another Tribunal than 
this for contempt of the Honourable Council of 
Twenty-five, for fraudulent, insolent and immodest 
behaviour, and transgression of the commandments of 
Almighty God, as given us in Holy Scripture. 
Wherefore, and until there is leisure and opportunity 
for the due investigation of thy case, I propose, with 
the leave of the council of citizens here present, to 
commit thee to the prison of the Ev^chd.’ 

This stern address did not take Norbert altogether 
by surprise. He knew that the city authorities, and 
especially the first syndic himself, whom he had 
deceived and befooled, must feel indignant at his 
audacious trick. Even any of them who did not feel 
it would be bound to feign it. What, indeed, could he 
expect, after putting their high mightinesses in a 
position so ridiculous, if not so odious, in the eyes of 
their enemies the Savoyards ? 

He bowed his head, as one who acquiesces in a just 
sentence ; yet the next moment he raised it again, and 
looked the first syndic boldly in the face. * But you 
will send for Master Berthelier } He is sorely wounded,’ 
he said. 

The austere face of Amblarde Come relaxed, almost 
into a smile, either at the boy’s audacity, or at his 
simplicity in thinking the syndics needed to be reminded 
206 


Before the Great Council 

by him of a duty so obvious. ‘Enough said/ he 
answered, though not very sternly. ‘ Dizenier, remove 
the prisoner.’ 

Meanwhile, there was a stirring on one of the back 
benches, and several voices cried, ‘ Make way — make 
way I ’ as a tall figure pushed through the close-packed 
seats, came forward, and passed up the hall to the place 
of the syndics and the Council of Twenty-five. 

With a start and thrill Norbert saw his father. 
Germain de Caulaincourt. citizen of Geneva, and duly 
elected member of the Great Council, had hitherto 
listened to the proceedings in silence, sitting modestly 
in the background, behind a pillar. Now he took his 
stand beside his son, laying one hand upon his shoulder. 
One quick look passed between them ; then he bowed 
to the syndics, and spoke — 

‘May it please your worthinesses, and the 
honourable citizens here present, I, Germain de 
Caulaincourt, accuse this my son, Norbert de Caulain- 
court, of contempt for the Council of Twenty-five, 
and of setting at nought its decrees.’ 

A murmur and a movement of astonishment ran 
round the hall. The syndics looked at each other in 
perplexity. Only the two Caulaincourts stood perfectly 
still, the elder awaiting the decision of the council, the 
younger stilled by the kindly pressure of his father’s hand. 

At last the silence was broken by the first syndic. 

‘ M. de Caulaincourt, we know you for a true man 
and a good citizen. Assuredly it need not this to prove 
it. Whilst we honour your devotion to the city of 
your adoption, we would not have you strain it to such 
extremity,’ 


207 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

*I do not strain it, sir. I act of my free will. I 
know it to be your law that the accuser must go to 
prison along with the accused.’ 

Norbert started, turned half round, looked full in 
his father’s face. It was a look that spoke volumes. 
De Caulaincourt went on, his grave, quiet voice 
penetrating the assembly, which stilled itself to listen. 
‘ Moreover, I hold that the responsibility in this matter 
rests partly upon me. That which my son has done — 
and I own the act was unlawful — he did for the love of 
me.’ The hand on Norbert’s shoulder trembled a little. 
‘ Therefore, if to prison he must go, to prison I go with 
him, either as accuser or accused, whichsoever your 
worships may appoint.’ 

There was a short silence, then Syndic Aubert said, 
addressing his three colleagues : ‘ This matter, as it 
seems to me, appertains rather to the consistory than 
to the council’ 

The suggestion was welcomed as a happy way out 
of a serious difficulty. No one wanted to send the 
elder Caulaincourt to the Ev^ch^, yet it was evident 
that if Norbert went he would go too. With Norbert 
himself no one knew very well what to do ; and in the 
minds of these subjects of a theocracy, the pastors and 
elders of the Church seemed the proper persons to decide. 
Moreover, as Norbert had broken a command of Scripture, 
his case fell certainly under their jurisdiction. 

Meanwhile, the majority had reached its conclusions 
by a shorter road. The sight of the son and father 
together, both escaped out of the jaws of death, which 
the father had braved for his faith, the son for his father’s 
sake, stirred their hearts as the wind sways the forest 
208 


Before the Great Council 


trees. From the Little Council and the Great, from 
the benches, back, front and sides, from the mass that 
thronged the windows, the passages, the doors, the 
corridors, there arose a perfect clamour of voices : * Let 
them go ! Let them go ! Long live Master Caulaincourt 
for a good man and an honest citizen ! ’ It was not 
forgotten either that he was a prominent French exile, 
and that the majority were fighting the battles of the 
French exiles in Geneva. 

Master Amblarde Come, first syndic, did not wait 
to hear more. ‘ M. de Caulaincourt,’ he said, ‘ you 
will hold yourself bound to produce your son, Norbert 
de Caulaincourt, whenever you shall be called upon to 
do so by the honourable consistory. We consign him 
in the meantime, and upon this understanding, into 
your own keeping.* 

De Caulcaincourt bowed his thanks, and taking his 
son’s hand in his, they withdrew together, making their 
way through the crowd in the midst of a storm of cheers 
and congratulations, varied by a few cries of a contrary 
character, accompanied with groans and hisses. These 
came chiefly from the minority who still favoured the 
Libertines, and were thus the enemies of the French 
exiles, ‘ They have angered the Savoyards past bearing ; ’ 
‘ They have disgraced our city ! ’ cried the malcontents. 
‘Treat them as they deserve.’ And one daring fellow 
was bold enough to add, ‘ What of Master Calvin’s own 
brother, who was deep in the plot ? These “ Regenerate ” 
set us a fine example ! ’ This was too much, more than 
nine-tenths of the assembly being strong Calvinists. 
‘ Down with the traitor ! Down with the Libertine ! ’ 
was heard on all hands. ‘ To the Rhine with him ! ’ 
209 O 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

shouted more voices than one, and already rough hands 
were laid on the luckless speaker, who had dared to 
associate the great name of Calvin with a vulgar fraud. 

‘ Order ! Order ! Order ! ’ The cry rang through 
the hall, heard clearly through all the noise and uproar. 
Then up rose the first syndic in his place, holding in 
his hand the black baton of office. ‘ Citizens of Geneva,* 
said he, ‘ respect the laws and the dignity of your Great 
Council. Let every man remain in his seat, silent and 
motionless.* 

So much had the new rigime already done for 
Geneva that the command was obeyed. After a few 
sullen murmurs, the assembly settled down into 
something resembling a state of order, and thus made 
it possible for business to proceed. Not all at once do 
communities learn the self-repression, the self-control, 
the * temperate will ’ which only makes freedom worth 
having, a blessing, not a curse. The difficulty lies in 
this, that only freedom itself can rightly teach the use 
of it. Happy are they who, like the Genevans, have 
amongst them one, or more than one, who can guide, 
control, and weld together the heterogeneous elements 
called collectively ‘ The People * into a strong firm 
mass, changing the * miry clay ’ into iron. 

While the Great Council, with indignation stirred to 
the utmost by the tidings of Norbert, virtually sealed the 
fate of Daniel Berth elier and his chief accomplices, the 
two de Caulaincourts essayed to walk quietly home to 
the Rue Cornavin. Father and son had found each 
other again, and were well content. Norbert, much 
ashamed of his dress, would fain have escaped 
observation ; but this was impossible. The palfrey 
210 


Before the Great Couneil 


left at the gate of the Franciscan monastery where the 
council was held, had been easily recognized, for it had 
belonged to Baudichon of Maisonneuve, who had given 
it to Gabrielle for her journey. Whilst Norbert was 
within, some one brought it back to its former owner, 
at the same time spreading the news that young De 
Caulaincourt had returned from Lormayeur safe and 
sound. So the father and son were beset with greetings, 
congratulations, and enquiries, mingled with a few, a 
very few, demonstrations of disapproval. They were 
glad to reach at last the door of Master Antoine Calvin, 
whence Norbert rushed at once to their own room, 
and happily succeeded in donning his proper garments 
before being seen by his host, or by any of the family. 
Then his father said, ‘ I will go with you to our friends 
next door, for the first thing to be done is to give the 
damoiselles your tidings of Master Berthelier.* 


CHAPTER XVIII 

NORBERT DE CAULAINCOURT IS THANKED 

T he three inmates of the house of Berthelier were 
intensely anxious about him, and their anxiety 
grew and deepened, as day after day passed by, 
and still he came not. Gabrielle, besides, was grieving 
bitterly on Norbert’s account, who, she did not doubt, 
had already met his death — and for her. Yet she was 
spared what made the worst suffering of the other two, 
she, at least, had no cause to reproach herself. Sister 
Claudine, who continued weak and ill, said little, and 
Marguerite was silent also ; neither wished to grieve 
Gabrielle by lamenting over what had been done by 
both for the love of her. Nor had they spoken of it 
even to each other, since, throughout the years they had 
dwelt together, their hearts never once had met. 

But on the morning of the Great Council, Marguerite, 
coming as usual to the bedside of Sister Claudine with 
the soup du prime, found her, as she thought, asleep. 
But looking closer, she saw that the face was hidden 
purposely, whilst heavy sobs were shaking the feeble 
frame. 

‘ Come then, my damoiselle,’ said the servant, with a 
touch of sternness. ‘ Is this the way to go about making 
212 


Norbert de Caulaincourt is thanked 


yourself strong and well, against Master Berthelier 
returns to us ? That is to say, if it please God to send 
him back to us. And if it please Him otherwise, we 
have got to submit, and will want all our strength for 
that But we need not go to meet sorrow half way.* 

* If *twere only sorrow,’ Sister Claudine sobbed. 
‘But this is sin. For my consent to the fraud God 
may punish me by taking my brother ! ’ 

Always ready for a theological discussion. Marguerite 
set down the cup, drew her arms together in a militant 
attitude, and began ; ‘ No wonder, damoiselle, that you 
find small comfort in your sorrow, if that is the notion 
you have of the Almighty, who sent it upon you. As 
to the master, whatever has become of him, though we 
know not, God knows. God has arranged it all, and 
settled it before you and I were born into the world, 
ay, and before the world itself was made. That is not 
our concern : one thing there is that does concern us, 
that is, our own sin. And we may be very sure that 
when that comes up in judgment before God, neither 
friend nor brother can take the blame or bear the 
punishment’ 

Poor Claudine, happily, was not logical enough to 
suggest that our sin also might have been foreseen, if 
foreseen, fore-ordained, and if fore-ordained, inevitable 
— why then any punishment at all for us to bear ? She 
caught at Marguerite’s last words, rather than at the 
drift of her discourse. ‘As to taking the blame,’ she 
said, ‘ God knows I do it’ 

‘ Not that you need — so much — after all,’ Marguerite 
allowed generously. ‘’Twas my doing. You were 
unwilling, and I over-persuaded you.’ 

213 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

‘ Oh, but to you, perhaps, it did not seem so very 
wrong. To me, knowing poor Norbert was a heretic, 
and that his soul would be lost for ever and ever — while 
Gabrielle might have been won to the true Church, and 
saved, soul and body. But then, my brother ! His heart 
was just breaking, for she is the very apple of his eye/ 

* And that is God’s truth, my damoiselle. I too, I 
thought of the master, and of the child herself. They 
would have made her miserable, perhaps done her to 
d^ath amongst them.’ 

‘ We both looked to the good for our own, and not 
to the harm for another.’ 

‘We looked to the good end, forgetting the evil way. 
Still, ’tis worse for me than for you.’ 

‘Not so! You do no penance, and you dread no 
purgatory.’ 

‘Penance! Purgatory!* said Marguerite, with 
supreme scorn. ‘ What are they to stand between a 
soul and the God that made it ? No ! That which I 
dread is quite another thing. I — I — who, with all my 
light and knowledge, could sin so, can I indeed be one 
of the number of God’s elect ? ’ 

* And yet,’ said Claudine gently, ‘ He is very pitiful 
and of tender mercy.’ 

‘Yes, to the faithful.* 

‘ But how was any one ever faithful, if first He was 
not merciful ? ’ asked Claudine, her words wiser than 
she knew. ‘ Marguerite, we have both of us done wrong,’ 
she added, with a sudden impulse, stretching out her 
hand to the servant. 

With her own rough, toil-hardened hand Marguerite 
touched it, not ungently. ‘What am I to despise a 
214 


Norbert de Caulaincourt is thanked 


Papist ? ’ she said to herself, ‘ when I have failed to make 
my own calling and election sure ? And do I not know 
full well that there is but one doom for unforgiven Papist 
or Protestant ? ’ 

‘We have both done wrong — for love/ Claudine 
said. ‘ Then may God in His mercy forgive us both ! ’ 

‘Amen ! ’ said Marguerite. 

‘And you know, Marguerite/ Claudine added, ‘you 
know, there is the blessed Lord. For His sake.’ 

‘For His sake, damoiselle,’ Marguerite assented. She 
knew not why she did it, but her next act was to stoop 
down and kiss the hand of Sister Claudine. 

Gabrielle appeared suddenly, throwing the door 
open. Her eyes were eager, her cheeks glowing, her 
whole face transfigured. ‘ Aunt ! Marguerite ! ’ she 
cried breathlessly. ‘Norbert has come back safe and 
sound ! And he brings news of my father ! ’ 

Norbert himself was behind her, and he and his 
father, having asked and received permission to enter 
Sister Claudine’s apartment, were presently pouring out 
their story into the ears of the two women. 

Just at the point of Norbert’s disclosure of himself 
to young Lormayeur, a loud, authoritative knocking at 
the street door interrupted them. It proved to be a 
message from the syndics, demanding his instant 
attendance to act as guide to the party they were 
sending to bring back Master Berthelier. They were 
bringing a litter for the wounded man, and Norbert was 
told there would be a horse for him. 

‘ You had best bring with you the master’s old cloak,’ 
Marguerite said to Norbert. ‘ And you, young sir, when 
did you break your fast ? ’ 

215 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

* At daybreak, in the blacksmith’s hut, while he shod 
my horse.’ 

‘Then food is the first thing to think of — “Mass or 
meal never hindered any man ” (though God forgive me 
for naming the abominable thing !) Here is the morning 
soup, which was kept hot for mademoiselle, though ’tis 
just dinner-time ’ 

‘ No, no, I can’t wait ; the word is instantly.’ 

‘That must be taken with reason,’ his father 
interposed. ‘ They have to get their band together.’ 

‘ Well, then,’ said Marguerite, ‘ I have a good capon 
I roasted for her yesterday, and she would scarce touch 
it. I will bring it into the next room, with a manchet 
of bread and a cup of wine, whilst Gabrielle thanks you. 
Master Norbert, as it is meet and right she should, for 
the saving of her from the hands of the Papist folk.’ 

De Caulaincourt, from his place by the couch of 
Sister Claudine, looked thoughtfully at the boy and girl 
who stood together near the door, as Marguerite had 
left them. Sister Claudine looked also, and perhaps 
with deeper insight. One of the last things to fade 
from a true woman’s heart is that yearning interest in 
the opening life of a young sister, a child-maiden she 
has loved and cherished. Those two who stood together 
there woke in her thoughts and hopes reaching far into 
the future. Though she also loved the absent Louis de 
Marsac, yet now from her heart she wished him forgotten. 

Gabrielle, in her opinion, ought to have blushed, and 
hesitated, and found herself unable to utter a word. But 
instead, the girl spoke out frankly, as if Norbert had 
been another girl, or she herself a boy — 

‘ Oh, Norbert — to thank you ? But how can I ? No ; 
216 


Norbert de Caulaincourt is thanked 


I can never do it, not even if I tried all my life. You 

have saved me, and I ’ But here, at last, a quiver of 

emotion passed over her sweet face, and she paused. 

De Caulaincourt and Claudine saw but two ; but each 
of those two saw another who stood between them. * You 
have saved me for him,* said the heart of one. ‘ Have I 
saved you only for him ? * was the thought of the other. 

De Caulaincourt interposed in his courtly way, ‘ My 
dear young lady, my son accounts it both a joy and an 
honour to have served you. Reserve, I pray of you, the 
thanks you are good enough to give him (though they 
are not needed) until he has the satisfaction of bringing 
back your father, which I trust he will do to-night* 

Then Marguerite appeared with a summons to the 
other room, and a voluble apology because she had no 
better drink to set before Master Norbert than a pitcher 
of rasade, the sour, common wine in daily use. ‘ There 
is not a flask of Swiss wine left,* she said, * though there 
is some good eau de cerise^ if Master Norbert would care 
for that.* 


217 


CHAPTER XIX 

THE ‘egregious’ AMI BERTHELIER 

A mi Berthelier had gone forth from Geneva a 
solitary, broken man, sad and bitter of heart, 
and well-nigh friendless. It was a striking proof 
of his isolation that, in the city of his birth, where every 
one knew every one else, and bonds both of kindred 
and association were so closely drawn, he had no one 
to whom he could turn when he happened to need a 
loan of moderate amount. He had to apply to his 
own proscribed and exiled kinsmen ; and even that 
very application might well have seemed to his 
fellow-citizens an offence, and a proof of complicity 
in treasonable designs. 

Moreover, it had failed ; he was coming back 
wounded in body and in soul. He had endured 
mockery, insult, violence even, from those who bore 
his name, and whose fathers were the friends and 
companions of his youth. Yet, strange to say, his 
return was a triumph. The men of Geneva, — hot of 
heart, prompt to reward friends or to punish foes, and 
never doing either by halves — took a strong view of the 
service he had rendered them. Every one present at 
the Great Council believed that Master Berthelier had 
218 


The ‘ Egregious ’ Ami Berthelier 

discovered an infamous plot of the Libertines, and sent 
information of it to the city, which was true; but the 
majority believed also that he had gone to Pregny 
and obtained the confidence of his cousin for that very 
purpose, which was not true, but added by romance 
as the story passed from lip to lip. Therefore, when 
that evening the stout guard, sent by the syndics, 
brought home the wounded citizen by way of the Porte 
de Rive, the whole population of the Rue de Rive 
and the other streets through which he had to pass, 
turned out to bid him welcome and to do him honour. 
Applauding shouts and cries filled the air. ‘ Long live 
all good citizens ! ’ * Long live a Berthelier who has 

a true heart to Geneva ! * ‘ God send you health and 

cure, good Master Berthelier; you have redeemed the 
old name.* Sometimes, indeed, it was not ‘ good Master 
Berthelier,’ but ‘ ’spectable Master Ami Berthelier,’ and 
there were voices which gave him higher honour still, 
hailing him as ‘ Egr^ge Ami Berthelier,’ for with the 
Genevans of the sixteenth century, * Egregious ’ was a 
title of singular honour. 

As he was crossing the Pont Piti, with its high 
houses on either side, a dark-robed figure, not tall, but 
with ‘the air of one accustomed to command,’ came 
forth from a house. There was a murmur of reverence 
and a doffing of caps, for it was Master John Calvin. 
At a sign from him the bearers of the litter stopped, 
and the crowd made way. Berthelier, looking white and 
very weary, tried to raise himself, but Calvin stayed 
him by a gesture, and with grave courtesy wished him 
health and cure. Then, solemnly raising his hand, he 
pronounced over him the words of ancient benediction 
219 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

which had sounded first over the embattled hosts of 
Israel. It was the first time those two had met face 
to face. Ami Berthelier said softly, 'Amen.’ The 
great man turned to go, and as he did so he raised 
his eyes and fixed them on Norbert, who was riding 
close to the litter. Lower and lower the boy’s head 
drooped beneath that piercing, penetrating gaze ; he 
only wished his whole body could sink with it, off the 
horse, through the bridge, down into the water beneath. 
And yet Master Calvin did him no harm ; to his intense 
relief, he did not even speak to him. 

At last Berthelier came to his own door, where 
De Caulaincourt, Antoine Calvin and two of his sons, 
stood ready with the help of their strong arms to lay 
him in his own bed. But Gabrielle’s bright face was 
his best welcome. Claudine stood beside her, for the 
news of his coming had lent her strength to rise and 
meet him at the door. Marguerite only did not greet 
her master, she was too busy assisting and directing 
the bearers, and showing them the way to the chamber 
she had made ready. She scarcely spoke, or even 
seemed to look at him, until at last he was comfortably 
laid on the soft feather bed, with its fine and snowy 
linen, which she had so carefully prepared. Then she 
went out, and said to Sister Claudine, ‘ Damoiselle, you 
must get well quickly. He cannot spare you yet. But 
he will not need you long.’ 

' Then you think ’ Claudine faltered. 

‘ I think nothing. The time for thinking will come 
soon enough. It is now the time for doing and praying, 
my damoiselle. Be very earnest with the Lord, that 
He may reveal Himself to Master Berthelier.’ 

220 



AT A SIGN FROM HIM THE BEARERS STOPPED 








The ‘ Egregious ’ Ami Berthelier 

Marguerite desiring the prayers of a Catholic ! That 
indeed was a wonder. Before that morning she could 
not have done it ; perhaps she would not have done it 
now, if there had been time to think. But what would 
become of us all if we were not sometimes happily 
inconsistent ? 

‘Of a surety I pray for my brother,* Claudine 
answered ; ‘ and moreover he has done a good deed 
in separating himself from his ungodly kinsfolk, and 
revealing their plots.’ 

‘All our good deeds are but filthy rags/ returned 
Marguerite, who was nothing if not polemical. ‘But 
there — he is calling.’ 

What Berthelier wanted was, that she should ask 
M. de Caulaincourt to come to him for a few moments. 
So weak and ill did he seem that she hesitated, fearing 
the exertion would be too much for him — yet she 
could not find it in her heart to deny him anything. 
Presently the two friends were looking into each other’s 
eyes, and exchanging the strong hand-grasp man gives 
to man when he trusts him from the bottom of his 
soul. 

‘ I cannot forget, while I live, or after it,’ said De 
Caulaincourt, ‘that for my sake you offered up your 
one ewe lamb.’ 

‘And for her sake,’ Berthelier answered, ‘your son 
ofiered up his life. That neither sacrifice was demanded 
was not their doing or ours. But monsieur my friend, 
I have sent for you — seeing I am like to grow fevered, 
and my mind may wander — to tell you, whilst yet I 
am myself, that in that hovel by the wayside I met — 
a Friend of yours.’ 


221 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

‘What friend? Some Savoyard to whom I spoke 
of the Gospel ere the prior’s men laid hold on 
me? ’ 

‘ No. Not one you helped, but One who helps you. 
One you have often urged me to seek. But I did not 
understand.’ 

De Caulaincourt understood now, and his face lit 
up with strange and sudden joy. ‘ O God, I thank 
Thee ! ’ he said. 

But Berthelier had to say, ‘Now go, my friend, for 
I am very weary, and I fain would sleep. Thank that 
brave boy of yours for me. I think that when he grows 
to be a man he will put us all to shame. Good-night ; 
God be with thee and him.’ 

The next day, and for many days after, little was 
thought of in Geneva save the trial and condemnation 
of Daniel Berthelier and his accomplices. Ami 
Berthelier’s fresh evidence made an absolute end of 
all hope for them, little as there had been without it. 
In vain the aged and venerable mother of Daniel 
Berthelier came to Geneva, to implore upon her knees 
the life of her son, for the sake of his martyred father. 
The council was inexorable ; he was doomed to the 
scaffold, with three of the most guilty of his associates. 
Philibert Berthelier, Ami Perrin and the other expatriated 
Libertines were condemned to perpetual banishment, 
and their accomplices to minor penalties. 

This crisis in the fate of the city diverted general 
attention from the affair of Gabrielle and the Count of 
Lormayeur ; although in some quarters a good deal 
of apprehension was felt about the retribution the 
irascible Savoyard would inflict for what was an 
222 


The ‘ Egregious ’ Ami Berthelier 

undeniable, though on the part of the citizens an 
unintentional, cheat. 

‘You had better take care,* said Ami Berthelier to 
Syndic Aubert, who visited him in his private capacity 
of a well-skilled apothecary. ‘ Ere you can look about 
you, the old count will be thundering at our gates, and 
cursing us by all his gods.’ 

‘What can he do,’ said Aubert, ‘that he has not 
been doing for twenty years } Whatever he does, you 
may make your mind easy, for we will not go about 
the second time to give him the girl.’ 

‘No. But we ought to pay the ransom of the 
prisoners in good Genevan crowns, like honourable 
men.* 

Aubert did not see matters exactly in this light ; 
but he held his peace, unwilling to excite his patient 
by an argument. There was reason for his caution, for 
Berthelier was very ill. As time passed on there was 
no improvement, but the contrary. Inflammation of 
the wound set in, bringing with it a constant fever, 
which, though it never ran very high, never quite left 
him, and gradually exhausted his small reserve of 
strength. All that the tenderest care could do for 
him was donel Marguerite and Gabrielle nursed him 
devotedly, aided by Sister Claudine as far as her 
strength permitted. The best medical skill of the town 
was at his command. Ben6it Dexter, Calvin’s own 
physician and devoted friend, was in constant attendance, 
and often took counsel with his colleagues. Aubert 
supplied the medicines, which were much more severe, 
and given in much larger quantities than would now 
be tolerated. 


223 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

Often his mind wandered, and his unconscious 
utterances showed his bitter sense of isolation, on the 
one hand from the mass of his fellow-citizens, on the 
other, from his own relatives and early friends. One 
thing which gave him keen distress was the refusal of 
Dame Amblarde Berthelier, while in Geneva, to see 
him, since she looked upon him as the betrayer of 
her sons. 

* Do not grieve over this,’ had De Caulaincourt said 
to him. ‘You have now every man in Geneva for your 
friend.’ 

It was no wonder, when the Genevans had so much 
to think of, that the affairs of a person so unimportant as 
Norbert de Caulaincourt should stand over indefinitely. 
He was ‘bound over’ to appear when called upon, but 
otherwise not interfered with. By his father’s desire 
he resumed his attendance at school. It did him no 
good. He had never accommodated himself very well 
to ‘ the trivial round, the common task ’ of the schoolboy, 
and the taste he had had of peril and adventure 
completed his disdain, not to say his detestation. He 
did little, and probably would have done nothing at all, 
but for his determination to avoid punishment. He 
felt and considered himself a man, though he sometimes 
behaved like a froward child. 

It was his greatest grievance that Gabrielle, more 
than any one else, made him feel that she thought him 
a child. He had meant to be, and had considered 
himself, all through his strange adventure for Gabrielle’s 
sake, thoroughly loyal to Louis de Marsac. Yet all the 
while there had slipped into his heart an unbidden, 
unacknowledged hope that he would be a hero in the 
224 


The ‘ Egregious ’ Ami Berthelier 

eyes of Gabrielle — and who knew what might happen 
next? 

But instead of being a hero, a knight - errant, a 
victorious paladin, he found himself regarded as a 
brave boy, a kind, unselfish young brother, who had 
cared for her and helped her as a brother might. In 
the sixteenth century, far more than now, a boy was 
a child until, early enough indeed, he became a man. 
Perhaps it was not wonderful that Norbert resented 
being sent back to the slate, the satchel, and the rod, 
after personating fair ladies and confronting Savoyard 
knights in their own domains. 

At last a gleam of notoriety came to him, but in a 
form with which he could very well have dispensed. 
His ‘affair* had been relegated to the consistory, which 
had in charge, as well as the religion, the manners and 
morals of the community. For a while that reverend 
body had abundant occupation in ‘dealing with’ the 
condemned Libertines and arranging their concerns ; 
but at last it found time, in a kind of parenthesis, to 
remember young Norbert de Caulaincourt, not greatly 
to his advantage. 

The syndics were always represented at the 
consistory by one of their number, who happened at 
this time to be Aubert. On the day Norbert’s affair 
came up he visited Berthelier, and brought the news 
to De Caulaincourt, whom he told with his friend. 

‘You may as well be prepared,’ he said (not, however, 
in the chamber of Berthelier), ‘ though I do not think, 
for my own part, anything serious will come of it In 
fact, I know to the contrary. Pastor Michel Cop 
introduced the matter, saying that the young man 
225 P 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

Norbert de Caulaincourt ought to be severely punished, 
both for his own amendment and as an example to 
others. Though as to the latter, I do not see much 
reason, as no one else is like to do the same trick, there 
being no incitement thereto. Most of those present 
agreed with him, the lay elders dwelling much on the 
fact that he had brought the honourable council, and 
the whole city, into contempt, making them appear as 
parties to a fraud and imposture. But the pastors — 
three at least out of the five who were present — insisted 
warmly that this was not the worst of the young man’s 
offences. He was guilty of a manifest breach of the 
Law of God, as given us in Holy Scripture — and 
plainly written in the fifth book of Moses, commonly 
called Deuteronomy, and the two and twentieth 
chapter of the same, — concerning the garments made 
and appropriated to the use respectively of the man 
and of the woman.’ 

‘That never for one moment occurred to me,’ said 
De Caulaincourt, dismayed. Then, after a pause, ‘But 
go on. Master Syndic. Was there no one to take the 
part of the poor boy, and suggest that, if he sinned, it 
was done in ignorance ? ’ 

‘ I did. I ventured to observe that in all probability 
the young man had never even heard of the prohibition, 
so far from intending to disregard it. But the pastors 
insisted that he ought to have heard of it, and one of 
them made bold to add that you, sir, should have 
taught him better.’ 

‘Perhaps I ought,’ admitted De Caulaincourt, humbly. 
‘Though I never dreamed of his taking such a thing 
into his head, so how could I think of forbidding him ? ’ 
226 


The ‘ Egregious ’ Ami Berthelier 

Aubert went on. * There followed a lively discussion. 
The pastors — I mean the three of them who took part 
in it — thought this the worst of your son’s misdoings, 
and some of the laymen agreed with them ; but the 
major part opined that the contempt of the council, 
and the hurt done to the honour of the city, was a 
more serious affair. But at length all agreed that he 
should make the amende honorable bareheaded and 
barefooted, in the apparel of a penitent and carrying 
a lighted candle, and thus beg pardon of God Almighty, 
of the honorable council, and of the citizens in general, 
for the harm and scandal he had caused.* 

De Caulaincourt grew visibly pale. This was 
terrible ! Norbert would never endure it He would 
run away, he would kill himself even — anything to 
avoid the disgrace. He scarcely heard Aubert’s words, 
as he added that some were for giving him in addition 
a term of imprisonment ‘ I will go to them myself ; 
I will plead for mercy,* he said. 

‘ Well — no. Monsieur de Caulaincourt Such a step 
as that will not, in my opinion, be necessary, because 
of an intervention, to all of us who were present very 
unexpected. Master Calvin, who during all the time had 
sat in silence, as one whose thoughts were elsewhere, 
suddenly took up the word. " There hath been too 
much ado about this matter, to my thinking,** he 
said. " Certes, the boy hath done wrong ; still, it is but 
a boy’s offence, more meet for fatherly rebuke and 
chastisement than for public process of judgment. 
Moreover, it must not be forgotten that the maiden 
hath been saved.” Master Calvin’s words of course 
commanded a respectful hearing, and most of those 
227 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

present went with him. One layman, however — but 
I will not divulge his name, lest it should injure him 
in his business — was malapert enough to say that 
Master Calvin had good reason for not bearing hard 
upon young Caulaincourt, since his own brother was 
mixed up with the matter. Two or three others 
made bold to agree with him, and to say that the 
conduct of Master Antoine Calvin required investiga- 
tion. To these things Master Calvin made no answer, 
as his use and wont is with regard to personal 
accusations. But Pastor Abel Poupin spoke out, 
saying that Antoine Calvin was like unto the men 
that followed Absalom in their simplicity, for he knew 
nothing of the plan. There were a few gibes, not 
ill-natured, at that same simplicity of Master Antoine’s, 
who certainly has not got his brother’s keen eyes in 
that honest head of his. And I ventured to remind 
the consistory that my own colleague, respectable 
Master Come, had been deceived also, and led into 
swearing falsely. Then Master Poupin went on to say, 
that the Count of Lormayeur ought to receive from the 
city the fair ransom, in gold or silver, of the three 
captives, out of which he had undoubtedly been cheated. 
As saith the Holy Scripture, “ Provide things honest in 
the sight of all men ! ” ’ 

‘ But my son ? ’ interrupted De Caulaincourt, 
anxiously. ‘Tell me, I pray thee, what is determined 
concerning him ? ’ 

‘I am coming to him. But I must explain first 
that respectable Master Baudichon, of Maisonneuve, 
who is kin to one of the prisoners, took up seriously 
the subject of the ransom, offering to open his own 
228 


The ‘ Egregious ’ Ami Berthelier 

purse, unto which, to do him justice, he is ever ready. 
Then said that skilled doctor and good friend of mine, 
Ben6it Dexter — and *twas the first word we heard from 
him: “But what about young De Caulaincourt ? ’ 
Meanwhile most of us were thinking of our dinners, for 
it was past eleven of the clock. I own I was sharp-set 
myself, for my morning soup I could not drink. Our 
cook is in distraction about her betrothed, a fisherman 
who took part in the riots, and is like to suffer for it, so 
she emptied the salt-box into pot au feu' 

De Caulaincourt’s impatience at these irrelevant 
details nearly overcame his courtesy, but, mastering 
himself with a strong effort, he only asked : ‘ What then 
did they do ? ’ 

‘ Some said one thing, and some another. But 
Master Calvin cut short the debate, and — I doubt not 
to every one’s relief — settled the matter in a few words, 
“ It is not well,” he said, “ to give this thing public 
importance and notoriety. As I have observed before, 
it calls rather for private admonition, with fatherly 
rebuke and correction, which, if our brethren here 
present so desire, I am willing myself to administer. 
With the leave of the honourable consistory, I will 
undertake so to deal with the young man that he shall 
truly humble himself, ask forgiveness for his transgression, 
and promise to observe for the future the laws of the 
commonwealth, and the Comnjandments of Holy 
Scripture.” That was his purport, though I cannot 
stand over each of the words, as to their order and 
fashion. All agreed to leave the matter in his hands, — 
and there, Monsieur de Caulaincourt, it rests at this 
present. Your son will get off with a lecture from 
229 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

Master Calvin, and a promise of modest and orderly 
behaviour for the future. And allow me to say that I 
think he is very fortunate.* 

De Caulaincourt thought so too ; but Norbert, when 
told what had passed, did not at all share his opinion. 


230 


CHAPTER XX 


A GENTLEMAN OF THE SPOON AGAIN 

T hat very day Norbert, on his way home from 
school, was accosted by a stranger, an elderly 
man, dressed respectably in grey homespun, and 
leading a mule laden with merchandise. This, though 
he did not know it, was Muscaut, the Savoyard, dealer 
in peltry, who had a permit from the magistrates to 
enter the town for the purposes of trade. He it was 
who, on a former visit, had seen Gabrielle, and recognized 
her by her likeness to her mother. Some one, apparently, 
had pointed Norbert out to him, for, leaving his mule 
to the care of a bystander, he hastened after him, and 
spoke — 

‘ I have a letter for you, young master.’ 

‘I think,* said Norbert, ‘you must be mistaken. 
Who would write to me ? ’ 

‘ I am not mistaken. You are the young gentleman 
who went masquerading as a young lady. Then this is 
for you.’ He gave him a small piece of paper, folded 
but not sealed, and with no superscription. 

‘ From whom is it?* 

‘ From one whom you know, and who knows you, 
yet could not set down your name in writing, since he 
had never heard it’ . 


231 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

Norbert opened the paper, and read: ‘ Will you 
meet me as a friend, just before sunset, at the Savoyard 
side of the Plain-palais, under the clump of trees 
behind the wine-shop of Amos the Jew? You may 
bring one friend with you as a precaution, if you will. 
Your sincere well-wisher — VICTOR DE Lormayeur.’ 

Norbert, with his usual daring, at once decided to 
go, and to go alone. He would not tell his father or 
any of his friends, lest they should try to prevent him, 
suspecting, not unnaturally, a plot of the Savoyards to 
get hold of him, and take vengeance for his trick. But, 
for his own part, he trusted absolutely to the honour of 
the young count, who had so generously given him his 
life. It might have occurred to an older and more wary 
person that the letter might not be from Victor de 
Lormayeur, whose handwriting he had never seen, but 
from some enemy using his name. But Norbert never 
thought of this ; in his present uneventful life he was 
glad of anything to happen, and awaiied the evening 
with lively curiosity. 

He reached the place of rendezvous a good half- 
hour before sunset. But the man he sought, or who 
sought him, was already there, on horseback, in a plain 
green hunting-suit, with a silver horn by his side. On 
seeing Norbert he dismounted, throwing the reins to 
the single attendant he had brought with him. ‘ Good 
even, brave lad or fair lady,’ he said. ‘ Come with 
me under the trees, and sit, for I would talk with 
thee.’ 

Norbert looked at the bright young face with the 
good forehead, the soft eyes, the weak mouth and chin. 
He, knew no harm would come to him from this man. 
232 


A Gentleman of the Spoon again 

But he preferred to stand, while Victor sat or lounged 
with his back against a tree. 

‘You Genevans have made precious fools of us,’ he 
said. 

‘Not the Genevans, who knew nothing,’ Norbert 
answered promptly. ‘ It was my doing, as I told 
you.’ 

‘ Still, no doubt they were glad enough to get their 
men back without ransom. I hope they rewarded you 
well, my brave enemy ? ’ 

Norbert laughed. ‘They were near rewarding me 
with bread and water and a dungeon, if not worse,* 
he said. ‘ And I may tell you. Sir Count, ’tis the 
general opinion that your father should be sent, 
in good silver crowns, the fair ransom of the three 
prisoners.’ 

‘ Do they think, then, to disarm his wrath } They 
ought to know him better.’ 

‘ They do not think of his wrath at all. They think 
of what is just and right,’ Norbert said, proudly. 

‘ They must be stronger than we wot of, if they can 
afford to disregard the wrath of a Lormayeur,’ answered 
Victor, rather nettled. 

‘ ’Tis a lesson they have had to learn. How many 
years is it since you Gentlemen of the Spoon have been 
moving earth and heaven to compass their destruction ? 
Have you done it yet ? Can you do worse in the future 
than you have done in the past ? If not, why should 
they trouble themselves ? ’ asked Norbert, who to this 
Savoyard talked like a Genevan, while to the Genevans 
he often talked like a Frenchman. 

‘Thou art a bold rascal. But that is just what I 

233 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

like thee for, and why I have come in search of thee. 
Know, however, that my father would have demanded 
reparation, sword in hand, at the gates of Geneva long 
ere this, but for the mischance which laid him helpless 
on a bed of sickness. When I told him of the black 
arts of those wicked heretics, whereby the fair lady and 
the steed she rode on had been transformed into hares, 
he at first refused to believe me, though the men of the 
escort bore out the story. True, they had not seen the 
change — such things are never seen in the happening, 
the devil takes care of that ; but the very same day 
two hares were found by the huntsman in a snare, and 
one of them cried piteously with the very voice of a 
young girl, while the other was just the colour of your 
palfrey ; — and so the thing was quite clear to all persons 
of sense and reflection. In the end he changed his 
mind, and believed it all ; but the fiercer was his wrath 
against the sorcerers of Geneva, which was reasonable, 
and also against me, which was not reasonable at all, 
for how could any man fight with sorcery ? So terrible 
was his rage, that at last he fell into a fit.’ Here Victor 
threw into his voice a decent amount of regret, and 
paused a little, ere he continued. ‘ The leeches say he 
is better now, and like to live ; but in no state to go to 
war — and never will be, as I fear, again. Still, he is more 
gentle and easy to entreat. Thus it is that I have got 
from him the leave he long denied me — to go to Spain 
and lay my sword at the feet of my rightful sovereign, 
the Duke of Savoy — now fighting for the King of 
Spain, for whom he has just gained a great victory, 
at a place called St. Quentin. As soon as he has 
done their business for them he will get the Spaniards 

234 


A Gentleman of the Spoon again 

to help him in his, and come back with an army to 
recover his own proper domains from the French. I 
want to strike with him in that quarrel,* said Victor de 
Lormayeur, the light of a manly purpose kindling in 
his eyes. 

‘Then, Sir Count, may God go with you, and deal 
with you as you have dealt with me ! * said Norbert, 
heartily. 

Victor looked away from him, and plucked up a 
handful of grass and weeds. ‘The truth is,’ he said, 
with evident embarrassment, ‘ I am leaving behind a 
young lady whom I — whose favour I am wearing.* 

Norbert looked amazed. Certainly the count had 
consoled himself very quickly for the loss of the Genevan 
bride 1 He knew not what to say, and therefore wisely 
said nothing. At last Victor w’ent on, though still with 
evident confusion. ‘ Thou wilt marvel, and indeed it 
is hard to explain. I had to yield to my father’s will, 
and sacrifice my own. But now all that is over. And 
I needs must tell thee, because ’twould suit me well to 
have thee go with me to Spain.’ 

‘ Me ! Go with you to Spain ! ’ Norbert repeated, 
in great astonishment. 

‘ I have said it. Never saw I a lad I would like so 
well for a comrade, despite thine audacity, perhaps 
because of it. Boy, I will make thy fortune, or rather 
the duke and I between us will do it. You may begin 
as my page — no, you are too good for that. I think 
you have grown in the few weeks since I saw you. You 
are more of a man.* 

‘That’s the dress,* Norbert put in. 

‘You shall begin, then, as my trusted squire. I 

235 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

want you for many things, most of all, perhaps, to 
keep up my communications with a certain castle I 
wot of.’ 

‘But/ said Norbert, ‘you forget the question of 
religion.’ 

‘ What of that ? We are not all of us saints 
and monks. I don’t want thy prayers, boy, I want 
thy nimble wit, thy daring, thy staunchness to thy 
friends. With thee for squire and true brother-in- 
arms, I think I could carve out something of a fortune 
and a name, fit to lay at the feet of the lady of my 
dreams/ 

Norbert forgot even the bewildering rapidity with 
which the young count seemed to change the objects 
of his devotion, in gazing at the prospect thus suddenly 
stretched out before him. A part in brave deeds, a 
work to do, a name to make in the great world — the 
brilliant world where men fought and conquered, wooed 
and won fair ladies, and lived half in mirth and joyaunce, 
half in wild adventure and high emprise — that was what 
was offered him. The brimming cup of life was borne 
to his lips ; in one long eager draught he might drain it, 
if he would. His cheeks flamed, his eyes sparkled, his 
boyish form dilated ; he seemed in that one moment to 
grow up to manhood. 

He knelt on one knee, and stretched out his hand 
to lay it in the count’s, like a vassal who swears 
allegiance to his lord. And with his hand his heart 
went out to him. Yet, an instant after, he withdrew 
it, and a dark shadow crossed his face. 

‘But ’ he said. 

‘ No “ buts ” for me/ said Victor gaily. The weak 
236 



HE KNELT ON ONE KNEE, AND STRETCHED 
OUT HIS HAND. 



A Gentleman of the Spoon again 

face looked into the strong one, and so kindly, so 
winning was that look, that weakness had almost 
conquered strength. 

Norbert’s eyes fell. ‘But France?’ he said at 
last. ‘ I am a Frenchman. I bear no sword against 
France.’ 

‘ That may be arranged,’ said Victor. 

‘ But — my father ? ’ 

‘ If he is a man of sense — and of that I may not 
doubt — he will be glad to have thee so well provided 
for.’ 

* No. He will say, “ What shall it profit a man, if 
he gain the whole world, and lose himself?” ’ 

‘Lose himself?’ Victor repeated, with something 
like the wistful look of a very intelligent dog who is 
trying in vain to make out his master’s meaning. Just 
then a red ray of the setting sun stole through the trees, 
striking the silver buckle of Norbert’s belt, and making 
Victor’s diamond ring flash out into a many-coloured 
glory. He stood up, and moving aside a little, pointed 
significantly to the great ball of fire now just touching 
the horizon. 

‘ I pray you, let me think,’ Norbert said. 

‘Yes,’ the count answered; ‘until the sun sinks.’ 

Norbert turned his face towards the glowdng western 
sky. The time was short. If he had never thought 
before in all his life, he must think now. Yet, try as 
he would, he could think of nothing but the young 
count, his face, his dress, his accoutrements, and, above 
all, the oddity of his talking to him of another lady-love, 
after the assiduous court he had paid so lately to the 
supposed Lady of Castelar. That, no doubt, was how 

237 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

people acted in the great world, a place full of surprises 
and adventures, and chances of every kind. So different 
from cold, commonplace, monotonous Geneva. And 
yet, in Geneva men kept troth, and were staunch to 
their friends. Witness their dealings with his father and 
himself since they came amongst them. All this time 
the sun was sinking — oh, how quickly! — still he had 
not thought, was not able to think. He only felt 
that he too, perhaps, had a troth to keep. Had he 
not said, ‘Thy people shall be my people, and thy 
God shall be my God ^ ? ‘I am the son of Germain 
de Caulaincourt, gentleman of France/ he said proudly, 
to himself. Better that than squire to the Count of 
Lormayeur. But now of the great sun only a rim 
remained, a narrow line of red fire. In a moment it 
would be gone. So would all his past, if he went 
thus — his father, his faith, his home, ay, even this 
Genevan home, which, after all, held some he cared 
for. To abandon all these would be to lose himself. 
He could not do it. 

A hand was laid upon his shoulder. The young 
count stood beside him. ‘ Come, my squire,* he said, 
smiling. 

Norbert, with a sudden impulse, threw himself at his 
feet. 

‘ Not your squire, Sir Count/ he said. * That may 
not be. But always your grateful servitor, whose life 
you saved, and who holds himself bound to you, in 
all lawful ways, so long as that life shall last.* 

‘ If so — do what I want you. Why not ? * 

‘ 1 here is my father. I am mansworn to him, and he 
to Geneva.* 


238 


A Gentleman of the Spoon again 

‘ The Genevan heretics may hang, as they very 
well deserve ! I warrant me you like them none 
so well yourself. Nor the life you lead among 
them.’ 

Norbert was loyal to the core. Not for worlds would 
he say to this foe of Geneva what 3^et he had often said 
to himself He made answer stoutly — 

* I have eaten their bread and salt, and they have 
dealt well with me and mine.’ 

‘ Are they worth your chance of a merry life, and, 
after it, a good end in the true Church, to make your 
salvation ? ’ 

‘ I know not what they be worth. Sir Count. But I 
think that I would not be worth your trust and favour 
if I left them now. For it would be leaving my father, 
and my father’s faith.’ 

Victor knew he was beaten. His hand dropped by 
his side, and his bright face clouded over. 

‘ All my life long,’ said he, * I have never got yet one 
single thing I wanted.’ 

‘ Sir Count,’ said Norbert, and his voice was ominous 
of a break, ‘ I beseech you to let me go. It makes it 
too hard for me, when I look in your eyes and hear 
your voice. For I fain would do what you ask me — 
and I cannot. But if ever I can serve you, even at the 
cost of my life ’ 

‘ You are an obstinate young spark ! ’ the count 
interrupted, with sudden anger, which passed as suddenly. 
* But there — it is just my luck. I say no more. After 
all, you are French. Go your ways. Go back to your 
Geneva, since you must, and God go with you. Stay, 
though.’ He drew from his finger the diamond ring 

239 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

the setting sun had glorified. ‘Take this in token of 
my liking for a brave lad. If ever you need a friend, 
bring it, or send it, to me, and you will find I have not 
forgotten — the fair lady of Castelar.* 

And so they parted 


240 


CHAPTER XXI 


RENUNCIATION 

‘Doubt of any sort cannot be resolved except in action.* — 
Carlyle. 

T here is no greater help towards decision than to 
decide. Many a long spiritual conflict is ended 
once for all by the putting forth of a hand or 
foot, by the smallest pledge which commits to action. 
Norbert walked back to town with his head high, and 
his heart strong within him. For two years be had been 
kicking against the pricks of the hard, austere Genevan 
life, and longing for the gaiety, the adventure, the risks 
even, that should have been his portion as the son and 
heir of a gentleman of France. And yet now, when all 
these were offered to him freely, he had turned his back 
upon them all, and cast in his lot with Geneva. 

Was it only through love and loyalty to his father, 
which was what he called it to himself? Was there 
another reason, never named by him even in thought, 
but of which he yet was conscious to his very finger-tips — 
that in Geneva he walked the same streets, he breathed 
the same air, as Gabrielle Berthelier? No doubt this 
drew him unawares, but so did many other unconfessed 
impulses, likings, attachments. As he crossed the Plain- 
241 Q 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

palais he remembered that only last Saturday he had 
distinguished himself at the arquebus practice there ; 
if he kept his place in two more trials, he would have a 
prize. Then, as he entered the Porte- Neuve, and trod 
the familiar streets, he knew that to him these indeed 
represented ‘ home.’ For the old life at Gourgolles had 
faded in the distance, while the new life of Geneva was — 
well, it was very far from perfection, it might easily be 
better, but it might also be worse. These Genevans, 
so stern in word, were kindly in act, after all. He had 
lacked for nothing, nor his father, since they came 
friendless and penniless to their gates. And when his 
father was in peril and a prisoner, had they not made 
his case their own ? Had not Master Berthelier been 
willing to give up — ah, too much ! — to save him ? Master 
Berthelier was a fine fellow — if all were like him ! 

Now he was passing the church of St. Gervais, and 
he owned to himself that, while he had no special love 
for pastors in general, he did not altogether detest kindly 
Master Poupin, whose turn it had been to preach there 
last Sunday. Still, it was best to go to the cathedral, 
for there one heard Master Calvin. He was a man ! 
King of Geneva, King of the Reformed all over the 
world — he, the exile, the son of the advocate of Noyon, 
whose brother bound books. Norbert did not love John 
Calvin, rather the contrary ; but undeniably he was proud 
of him, both as a Frenchman and a Genevan. With all 
his soul he reverenced strength, wherever he found it. 

If only he might look at him and listen to him from 
a safe, respectful distance ! If only that terrible prospect 
— of which his father had told him the day before — of 
a personal interview and admonition, was not hanging 
242 


Renunciation 


over him ! He almost wondered at himself for not 
having gone away with the young count, solely to 
escape it. But that would have been a very cowardly 
proceeding, quite unworthy of a gentleman of France. 
Indeed, while talking to the count, he had half forgotten 
it. Now it came back upon him with a feeling of dismay. 
He wished, with all his heart, that Master Calvin would 
let him compound for the lecture by three days on bread 
and water in the darkest dungeon of the Ev^ch^. 

By this time the stars were shining over his head, 
and the city watchmen were hanging their lanterns at 
the street corners ; many of the shops had also lanterns 
hung outside them, or were lighted from within. Norbert, 
being hungry, thought that of his favourite confectioner 
looked very tempting ; he could see plainly within it 
some delicious cheese-cakes, of a kind he had once 
made bold to offer Gabrielle. Ah, Gabrielle ! ‘ Does 

she ever think,’ he wondered, ‘ that I risked as much 
for her as Louis and the others who went to France are 
risking for their faith ? ’ 

His home, as he approached it, showed more light 
than usual. Some one must have come to sup with 
Master Antoine. He lifted the latch, entered, and went 
at once to the supper-room. 

All were seated at table, the men as usual with their 
hats on, and Jeanette, the servant, at the bottom. De 
Caulaincourt looked up, and said, ‘You are late, my 
son and Jacques, the youngest of the Calvins, rose to 
get a stool for him, placing it in the only available spot, 
between his father’s seat at the head of the table, and 
that of a gueat who sat beside him. In him Norbert 
recognized the person who had given him the young 

243 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

count’s note. Master Muscaut also recognized him, 
and expressed his gratification at meeting a young 
gentleman of such remarkable courage and address. 
‘ Although,’ he added, ‘ to be frank with you, young 
sir, you have left a very ill savour of the Genevese 
behind you in our country. ’Twas a horrible trick you 
played off upon our seigneur ; and so wroth did it make 
him that he fell into a fit, and is never like to be his 
own man again. But I warrant you, he had enough 
of his senses about him to forbid any one of us going 
near your city, which is hard upon poor men who 
have their bread to earn, and who know very well that, 
whatever may be said of Genevan heretics, Genevan 
crowns are good money, and pass current with the best. 
I have ventured here, so to speak, under the rose ; for 
a man cannot eat and drink chamois’ skins, and I have 
enough on my hands to make a covering for your big 
cathedral — and very little else besides.* 

Honest Master Muscaut earned his livelihood by 
purchasing skins from the shepherds and the hunters 
on the mountains of Savoy, and selling them again at 
a good profit, chiefly to the leather-dressers of Geneva. 
He had, like a few others, a safe conduct from the 
council, in virtue of which he came and went at his 
pleasure, even when the internecine conflict between 
the lords of Savoy and the citizens of Geneva was in 
the most active of its stages. It was during a former 
visit that he saw Gabrielle Berthelier, inquired into her 
parentage, and by his report to the old Count of 
Lormayeur, set him upon that business of reclaiming 
her. Until Norbert’s adventure he had been rather 
a favourite with the count; but he had since been 
244 


Renunciation 


careful to keep well out of his way. He had no fear's 
however, about returning to Geneva ; since he reasoned 
that the Genevans, having been successful in their 
roguery (as he thought it), would probably be in good 
humour. Antoine Calvin was an old acquaintance ; 
being in his own line a true artist, who aimed ever at 
perfection, he liked himself to select the skins which 
he needed for his work, though they were afterwards 
prepared for him by an expert leather-dresser. Muscaut 
knew the particular kinds he affected, and used to keep 
them on purpose for him ; quite regardless of the fact 
that they were destined for the covering of abominably 
heretical books. 

After supper, young Jacques Calvin, lantern in hand, 
escorted him to his inn, the Black Swan. Norbert 
meanwhile told his father, without reserve, all about 
his interview with the young count, and showed him 
the ring he had given him. 

De Caulaincourt was much moved. So his wayward 
boy, after all, had been faithful to his father, and his 
father’s God I He had been tried, and had not failed, 
though the trial was no small one. And yet, in truth, 
he little guessed how great it had actually been. He 
did not say much. It was an age of strong deeds 
rather than of many words. Yet his quiet, 'Thou hast 
done well, my son,’ quite satisfied the heart of Norbert. 

There followed between them one of those silences 
which are sometimes better than words. Norbert broke it. 

‘ Father,’ he said, ‘ I think I ought to tell Master 
Berthelier. Think you, is he well enough to-night ? ’ 

‘He is certainly better to-day ; has been free from 
fever, and with little pain. Let us go and see.’ 

245 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

Which they did. Berthelier, very pale, and propped 
with pillows on his couch, listened to their story with 
much interest. When they had ended, he said, ‘All 
this confirms me in a purpose which I have had in my 
mind, when I could think at all. Gabrielle ought to 
execute, with all legal formality which can be devised, 
a formal transfer of all her claims upon the Castelar 
estate to her kinsman, Count Victor de Lormayeur.' 

‘But would any document we of Geneva could 
execute here be accepted in the Courts of Savoy ? * 
asked De Caulaincourt, 

Berthelier smiled. ‘ If we were claiming an estate, 
I should give little for our chance of a hearing,’ he 
said. ‘But since we are renouncing one, that makes 
all the difference. I think this document may well be 
of use. The young count is sure to gain the ear of the 
duke, and if he comes to his own he will see the matter 
through for his sake. Then I think, also,’ he added, 
after a pause, ‘ that Master Muscaut should see the 
syndics, and take some sort of a promise from them 
to the young count that this should be done. Also, 
something should be arranged about the ransom of 
the prisoners, for which, undeniably, the town is in debt.’ 

‘That concerns me most nearly,’ said De Caulain- 
court. ‘ But what am I to do ? I am myself a pensioner 
on the bounty of my brethren here.’ 

‘Father,’ broke in Norbert, suddenly, ‘there is that 
ring the young count gave me. See — the diamond is 
large — how it shines too ! It must be worth much 
money.’ 

‘You cannot part with that, my son,’ said Berthelier, 
from his couch. 


246 


Renunciation 

‘I cannot give or sell it, but surely I may pledge it,’ 
returned Norbert. 

‘ It may not be needed/ said Berthelier. * The 
Maisonneuves are rich ; and there are others, too, who 
will help. My counsel is, that we send to-morrow to 
the young count, by the hand of Master Muscaut, a 
letter stating what we propose to do. Then, if he 
accepts, we can act — promptly.’ 

*Yes, promptly,’ Norbert said. ‘For I understand 
the young count is immediately going to Spain.’ 

*For more than one reason,’ Berthelier said, ‘I 
want Gabrielle’s affair settled as soon as may be. For 
it is even more for her protection than for the count’s 
advantage. As long as she remains heiress of Castelar, 
she remains in danger. She may be claimed, she may 
be entrapped — or seized even by violence, by those 
who seek to make their profit of her right. But the 
deed of renunciation will make her in law, what she 
has always been in heart, a true child of Geneva, nothing 
else, and nothing more.’ 

De Caulaincourt assented. ‘ But I see that you 
are weary,’ he added. ‘ Let us talk no more, but wish 
you quiet rest, and go.’ 

‘Good night, friend. Stay, though, one moment. 
The letter should be signed by the four syndics, on 
behalf of the town. And early, to-morrow morning. 
See to it all, I pray of you.’ 

‘ I will. Do not be anxious.’ 

‘Ah, here comes Gabrielle. Child, do thou salute 
Monsieur de Caulaincourt and Norbert, my good friends, 
who even now are doing thee better service than thou 
wottest of.’ 


247 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

They saluted her with the courtesy of their nation, 
and the three went together to the street door. When 
she returned, she found Berthelicr already half asleep. 

She paused a moment, doubting what to do, but 
her light footstep had roused him ; he looked up at 
her — 

‘Yolande.?* he murmured. Then, recovering full 
consciousness, ‘I think I was dreaming — Gabrielle, 
thou wilt be glad, wilt thou not, to belong wholly to 
Geneva and me ? * 

‘My father, that I have ever done. Except, of 
course, as I — as we all — belong to God.’ 

•We belong to God ? Then let the owner take, and 
use that which is His. So be it. I ask no more.’ 


248 


CHAPTER XXII 

A DREADED INTERVIEW 

O NE bright afternoon, a few days later, Germain 
de Caulaincourt might have been seen walking 
about the Court of St Pierre, and up and down 
the Rue des Chanoines, as Norbert had done, months 
before, when waiting for Louis de Marsac. His usually 
calm face wore an anxious and troubled expression ; and 
ever and anon, as he passed and repassed No. 123, he 
would pause and look earnestly at the closed door and 
the narrow windows that told him nothing. He was 
waiting for his boy ; when would the dreaded interview 
be over, and Norbert come forth to tell him all about 
it ? Late the night before Master Calvin had returned 
from a fortnight’s absence, and that morning he had sent 
his secretary, the young Frenchman, De Joinvilliers, to 
desire Norbert to come to him after school. The 
‘ desire ’ was a royal mandate. De Caulaincourt 
accompanied his son to the door, but not all the boy’s 
entreaties could induce him to enter. ‘ It would be 
in no way right,’ he said. ‘ Be a man, my son. What 
dost thou fear? Master Calvin will neither slay nor 
smite thee.’ 


249 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

‘ For all that, I would rather go to old Sangsoue, 
and let him drag out a double tooth for me,’ said 
Norbert. 

De Caulaincourt had long to wait. The servant 
who admitted Norbert did not know that her master 
had been summoned to the sick bed of a friend, for 
happening himself to open the door to the messenger 
(as, on a historic occasion, he actually did to no less 
a person than Cardinal Sadoleto), he had gone back 
with him at once. So Norbert was shown into the 
small, plainly furnished room where Calvin usually read, 
and saw his visitors, and was left there for an indefinite 
time to his own not very cheering reflections. 

Those of his father were scarcely more satisfactory. 
Being in the cathedral court when Calvin re-entered 
the house, he did not know what would have partly 
accounted for the long delay. There was perhaps a 
touch of superstitious awe in the way in which even 
able and intelligent men like De Caulaincourt regarded 
John Calvin. Yet in the present instance he had some 
cause, slight perhaps, but real, for uneasiness. He knew 
the singular and daring character of his son, a character 
he himself, as he was well aware, but partially understood. 
Could it be possible that the malapert boy would fail 
to receive Master Calvin’s ‘godly admonitions’ with 
proper meekness and humility ? That he would have 
the audacity to answer again, to defend himself, or 
even — unheard-of effrontery ! — to argue ? No one could 
ever tell beforehand just what Norbert would do. And 
if he misbehaved thus, what would happen ? De 
Caulaincourt’s foreboding soul gave him back the 
celebrated answer of Mr. Speaker Onslow, when asked 
250 


A Dreaded Interview 


what would happen if he ‘named’ an unruly Member 
of Parliament, ‘ The Lord only knows ! ’ 

But here was Norbert at last ! It was time ; the 
great clock of St. Pierre was on the stroke of five. 
Ah, surely it had gone ill with the lad, very ill ! His 
face was pale and tear-stained, his lips trembling, as 
if he could scarcely keep from sobbing aloud. 

His father hurried towards him, in genuine alarm. 
Norbert, from a child, had held tears in manly scorn, 
nor would reproof or punishment have ever drawn them 
from him. 

‘ Oh, father,’ he said, ‘ father ! ’ — the word was almost 
a cry. 

‘What is it, my son?* Then, full of dismay, as a 
sudden thought occurred to him, ‘You are not to leave 
Geneva ? ’ 

(Genevan air was somewhat apt to disagree with 
those who opposed Master John Calvin.) 

‘ Me oh no ! There’s nought of me. It is — it is — 
Louis de Marsac.’ 

‘ Louis ! ’ 

‘ He and Peloquin. They are in prison at Lyons — 
like to die.’ 

De Caulaincourt was much moved. Better even 
than Norbert he knew what those tidings meant. He 
sat down on one of the stone seats in the court, and 
covered his face with his hands. For some time he 
could not speak. 

Norbert spoke at last ; and the silence once broken, 
he was glad to pour all his story into his father’s 
ears. 

‘ ’Twas this way,’ he said. ‘ I stood waiting there, 
251 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

in that room of his, all lined with books round the sides 
and up to the ceiling ; I scarce thought there were so 
many books in the world, and of course all different, 
for who would have two of the same in his house ? On 
the table were pens, an ink-horn, and many papers, 
some set together orderly, others lying about. Beside 
the master’s carved chair there was a stool or two, and 
presently I sat down, and tried to think what it was 
like he should say to me, and what I should answer. 
But the time was long, and I grew mortal weary. At 
last I nodded, and would have fallen asleep, but t 
thought that if he came and found me thus, it would 
look unmannerly, and make him the more wroth with 
me. So I stood up and went to the window, which 
was at the back of the house, and looked out upon a 
fair garden full of flowers. They were good to see, 
and reminded me of France ; though I did marvel 
somewhat that Master Calvin should take thought of 
the like.’ 

‘ He does, and more than most. But go on.* 

‘ I was still standing there, hidden, I suppose, by the 
tapestry that curtained the window, when he came in. 
I looked round, but he did not see me, and presently 
turned his back, seeking somewhat amongst the papers 
on the table. I stood still, not knowing what to do, 
and fearing to disturb him.’ 

‘Thou shouldest have waited till he made a pause, 
or lifted his head, and then coughed discreetly, to 
attract his attention.’ 

‘ But he made no pause, father, nor ever lifted his 
head. Till at last, methinks, he found what he sought, 

under a pile of papers. It was an unopened letter * 

252 


A Dreaded Interview 


‘Ah! Overlooked perhaps last night, and to-day 
some one may have told him of its coming.’ 

‘I dare say. He cut the string with his girdle-knife, 
broke the seals and began to read. Then, father, then ’ 
— Norbert’s voice faltered — ‘ the strangest thing I ever 
saw * 

‘What?’ 

‘ He said, as if unwittingly, “ De Marsac — Peloquin 1 ” 
and a moment after, “ My God I ” But,’ added the young 
Frenchman, accustomed to the careless use of the great 
Name, ‘not as other men say it. Rather as if he cried 
out in agony, and cried to One who hears. And his 
face — it was grey with pain, and there were tears — 
real tears. Father, I know now that Master Calvin 
cares. 

‘But I thought of Louis, and — I suppose I must 
have made moan or cried out — for he looked up, with 
those eyes of his that go through you like a sword. 
And then a sort of mask seemed to fall over his face, 
as when a soldier drops his vizor for the fight. He 
looked as he always does in the pulpit or the school, 
and he asked quite calmly, “Who art thou, boy, and 
how earnest here ? ” 

‘ “ Sir,” I made answer, “ I am Norbert de Caulain- 
court, and I come at your own command.” 

‘ “ Go,” he said, “ and return to-morrow at the same 
hour.” 

‘ But not for Master Calvin himself could I do that, 
with the sound of that “ De Marsac I ” in my ears. I 
said to him, “ Sir, I crave your forgiveness ; but Louis 
de Marsac was a brother to me. Tell me, I pray of 
you, what has befallen him.” He looked at me a 

253 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

moment in silence, then said, ‘*Wait.” I waited while 
he read the letter, scarcely breathing, my eyes upon his 
face. At last he spoke. “Louis de Marsac and Denis 
Peloquin are in prison at Lyons, for the Word of God 
and the testimony of Jesus Christ They are full of 
faith and courage, trusting in God. De Marsac has 
written. Tell his friends.’* I thought he meant me to 
go, so I made my reverence and turned to do it But 
he called me back. “As for thy matters, Norbert de 
Caulaincourt 

‘ Well, Norbert } * his father questioned, for Norbert 
had come to a full stop. 

‘ I can’t get back his words — not as he said them,* 
faltered he. ‘But the sense was, that I had been 
indiscreet, and — I know not what else, but I promise 
you I felt it all.* 

‘ And what is to be done } ’ 

‘ Nothing. As for the prisoners* ransom, the city 
will pay it Only, I was to remember that we are not 
sent into the world to serve ourselves, or even to serve 
our friends after our own pleasure, but to do the Will 
of God — like Louis de Marsac. He bade me pray for 
him, and follow his example, that if — if suffering came, 
or death — oh, father, you know.* 

‘Was that all?’ 

‘Yes — no — he laid his hand on my head — and I 
shall never say again that Master Calvin does not feel.’ 

De Caulaincourt sighed. ‘ Whose, think you, is the 
hardest part in the campaign, the general’s or the 
soldier’s? ’ he asked. ‘ Norbert, these are heavy tidings 
— very heavy.* Then, after a pause, ‘ Methinks Louis 
hath no relations in the town.* 

254 


A Dreaded Interview 


‘ No ; but — there is Gabrielle.’ Norbert*s voice sank 
very low as he said the name. 

De Caulaincourt did not immediately understand ; 
for there had been no formal betrothal. But Norbert 
understood only too well. In that very place had Louis 
given him the charge that changed his life. His father 
saw that in his face which made him say, after a 
pause — 

‘ Ah, there are matters wherein the young know each 
other better than the old can do.’ 

‘ Father, you must tell them. Perhaps Master 
Berthelier, ill though he is, had better know the first. 
He will tell her.* 

‘ Meeter it seems to me that thou shouldest thyself 
deliver the message Master Calvin gave thee.’ 

^ Oh, but I cannot ! It is Louis, my friend, my 
brother!’ Here quite suddenly and to his own 
amazement the boy broke down, and wept and sobbed 
aloud. Happily, there was no one within sight or 
hearing ; the cathedral court was deserted, as it was 
the hour of the evening meal. De Caulaincourt laid 
his hand kindly on his son’s shoulder, but did not seek 
to check his tears. Norbert, however, soon recovered 
himself. ‘ We must go home,’ he said. ‘ And you will 
tell the Bertheliers.’ 

Moved by his distress, De Caulaincourt made no 
further objection, and they went home together in 
silence. 

As they trod the familiar streets, young Norbert’s 
soul, moved to its depths by what he had heard and 
seen, caught upon its troubled waters a gleam of light. 
‘ Cold, strong, passionless, like a dead man’s clasp,’ had 

255 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

seemed to him the will of John Calvin, when he sent 
forth his father, Louis de Marsac, Denis Peloquin and 
a hundred others to suffer and to die. But now Norbert 
knew — for he had seen the anguish of his soul — knew 
well that the strong man felt and suffered, ay, in 
proportion to his very strength. Never would he think 
again it was easy for Master Calvin — never would he 
doubt again that it was harder far for him in his safe 
Geneva than for them in the dungeon or at the stake. 

He raised his head, and looked up at the cloudless 
evening sky. All that strong, earnest life which since 
his coming to Geneva he had perforce been breathing 
in, was saturated with intense belief in One who dwelt 
above that sky, and did as He willed in the heavens 
and on the earth. There was no resisting His will. 
He slew, and He saved alive ; He had mercy on whom 
He would have mercy, and whom He would He dealt 
with according to his transgressions. He sat silent in 
His heaven while everything went wrong upon earth, 
while men, even good men who trusted Him — like 
Louis — were imprisoned, tortured, burned. But perhaps, 
after all, and if one only understood all, He felt. He 
cared, He loved. Like Master Calvin — only infinitely 
more. And then there was Christ, and the cross, and 
the ‘love of Christ ’ men talked about. He thought of 
a verse somewhere that said, ‘In all their afflictions He 
was afflicted.’ Oh, if it might be true I 

Not that Norbert s dim and groping thoughts framed 
themselves into such words as these. Rather, the 
moment’s illumination that came to him meant just 
simply, ‘I know now that the man I thought hard as 
adamant, feels, loves, suffers. Perhaps some time I 
256 


A Dreaded Interview 


shall know that One far greater feels, loves — dare one 
say suffers ? Only so much the more, in that He is far 
greater.’ 

The flash faded, but the thought remained, never 
wholly, so long as he lived, to leave him again. 


257 


CHAPTER XXIII 

norbert’s errand 

* Better youth 

Should strive through acts uncouth 

Towards making, than repose on aught found made/ 

R. Browning. 

N ORBERT watched anxiously for his father’s return 
from his sad errand next door. So also did 
Antoine Calvin, to whom all had been told. 
At last De Caulaincourt came. 

‘ I feel,* he said, * as one who has spoken a death 
sentence.* 

‘ Does Berthelier know ? * asked Antoine- 
‘ Not yet ; but they will not be able to keep it from 
him. Sister Claudine weeps, old Marguerite prays with 
white lips.* 

‘But Gabrielle, father — Gabrielle? ’ said Norbert. 

‘ A dumb thing shot through the heart does not cry 
or moan. Nor does she.’ 

‘We will pray,* said Antoine Calvin. 

‘ Ay, with all our hearts. ’Tis all we can.* 

‘Is it ? * asked Norbert, very low. 

‘ My brother will go to them, and pray, and speak 
words of comfort,* said Antoine, as if to such consolation 
as this any sorrow must yield. 

258 


Norbert’s Errand 


There was a pause, broken by Norbrrt. ‘ Father,’ 
he said abruptly, ‘with your good leave I am going to 
Lyons.* 

‘ Nay, now, my son,* De Caulaincourt returned, with 
a touch of impatience, ‘ ’tis no time for idle talk.’ 

‘ I never talked less idly. I mean it, and T pray of 
you not to hinder me. Master Antoine, you have 
influence with Master Calvin. He will write them a 
letter. Get him to let me take it.* 

‘ At the peril of your life ? ’ 

‘Am I the one man in Geneva who would not peril 
his life in such a cause ? ’ 

‘ Wait at least till thou art a man.* 

‘ I am — at all events to-day.’ 

‘ Do not heed him,* De Caulaincourt interposed. ‘ He 
is a boy, a child.’ 

‘ I am in my seventeenth year,* said Norbert. ‘ And 
whatever you may think of the lawfulness of my last 
enterprise, it was surely no child’s play,’ he added 
boldly. 

‘ My brother, probably, will write by the messenger 
who brought the letter.* 

* Who is sure to be gone, since the letter lay awaiting 
him for days.* 

‘ *Tis a mad scheme,’ said De Caulaincourt. ‘ Master 
Calvin, or any other man of sense, is sure to say so.* 

‘That shall I find out, the first thing to-morrow 
morning.* 

‘ Norbert,* said his father, with grave anxiety, ‘ thou 
hast hitherto, with all thy faults, been a good, obedient 
son to me. Am I now to find thee froward and 
rebellious ? * 


259 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

Norbert turned on him with passionate, beseeching 
eyes. 

‘Father, I pray thee, let this thing be!* he said. 
‘ There is something in my heart that drives me forth. 
Of the life here I am weary — weary 1 The lessons I 
detest. The school, since Louis left, is a horror. The 
prayers and the preaching — no, I do not think I hate 
them. Sometimes I do, but sometimes I could almost 
love them, as to-day, when Master Calvin — sometimes I 
think there is something in it all, and that I may end 
by being “mortified,’* “regenerate,” and so forth, like 
the rest But then the weariness and disgust come 
back. And if I stay here, and walk through the dull 
grey streets, and listen to the droning voices, I shall 
hate it out and out Let me go away and do something, 
something to help Louis — my friend.’ 

‘ But,’ said his father, amazed at this outburst, ‘ I do 
not understand. But a day or two agone thou didst 
refuse the Savoyard’s tempting offers, thou didst tell 
me Geneva was thy home, and let me think thou 
lovedst it. What has changed thee so strangely .? * 

‘ Nothing, — and everything. Or rather, I am not 
changed, I was always so. There are two hearts in me, 
and one of them spoke then, the other speaks now. But 
I am not going to give up Geneva. Father, if you trust 
me, and let me go to Lyons, with your blessing, I will 
come back faithfully, bringing that for which I went. 
But if you trust me not, still I must go, though of my 
return in that case I say not anything.’ There was in 
his face a look of determination, new even to his father. 

Here Antoine Calvin left the room quietly. ‘ Alone 
with his father, whom he loves, the lad’s heart will melt,’ 
260 


Norbert’s Errand 

thought he. * The presence of another would freeze it 
hard.’ 

When the door had closed upon him, De Caulaincourt 
said gravely — 

* I fear, my son, thou hast given place to the devil.’ 

* Nay, father,’ Norbert protested eagerly. ‘I am 
fighting him all the time, trying to hold him down. Or 
is it perchance myself I am holding down ? All I know 
is, I want to go away — to go out into the world, to live, 
to work, to fight. The other day, when I said a steadfast 

No ” to the brave young count who would have given 
me all I wanted, I thought I had conquered. But it was 
not so easy. I no sooner had my foe under my feet 
than he sprang up again and smote me like a giant. But 
which is hCy and which am If ’ 

‘ Oh, my son, pray God to guide thee, for I cannot ! 
There is more here than I can understand.’ 

‘ There is more, father. And if I go to Lyons, it 
will be to serve Master Calvin and the cause you all 
love here, so that therein I may content every one — and 
myself too. Father, if thou lovest me, let me go ! There 
is something that drives me forth.’ 

‘ My son, to-day and to-morrow, I will fast and pray.’ 

‘Ay, father, to-day. To-morrow you will give me 
your blessing, and let me go.’ 

***♦•* 

Next morning, between ten and eleven of the clock, 
Norbert knocked at the door of the Bertheliers, and 
asked Marguerite, who opened it, if he could see 
Damoiselle Gabrielle. 

‘ I suppose so,’ said the old servant. ‘ The child goes 
about her work as usual. She has not shed a tear.’ 

261 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

‘ Does Master Berthelier know ? * 

‘ He does. How could we keep it from him, when 
his whole heart is in the child, and hers is broken ? 
Come in, Master Norbert ; I will fetch her.’ 

The door of the room on the ground floor, where the 
dealer in foreign fruit kept his stores, happened to be 
open. Norbert turned in, thinking his chance of seeing 
Gabrielle alone would be better if he waited for her 
there. As he waited, his eyes rested vaguely on a great 
pile of oranges, aigre-douces, the Genevans called them, 
and prized them highly. It was only the other day he 
had chaffered for one himself in the fruit-shop on the 
bridge ; but oh, how long ago it seemed ! Then he 
looked up. Gabrielle had glided in, and stood before 
him, white and shadowy, with dark rings round her eyes. 

Norbert had seen her high courage when the thing 
she greatly feared seemed about to come upon herself. 
But he was man enough to know that even that was 
small compared with this one ; while he was boy enough 
still to be struck dumb with the knowledge, and unable 
to find one word of comfort for her. 

He pointed silently to a box where she might sit, 
but she stood still, with a look in her dry, wide-opened 
eyes that seemed to ask : ‘ Why have you disquieted me 
to bring me up out of the depths of my sorrow ? ’ 

He did not speak, but took a letter out of his sleeve 
and showed it to her. The superscription, written in a 
strong, clear, irregular hand, full of twists and turns, was 
this : — 

To Master Jean Lyne, of St. Gall, 

Merchant in Silks and Velvets, 

At Lyons. 

262 


Norbert’s Errand 


* Lyons ? ’ she said, with a sort of shiver. 

‘ I am going thither. With that.* 

‘You? A boy!* 

‘A boy can go safely where a man could not venture,’ 
returned Norbert,too much moved to resent the slighting 
word. ‘ At all events,* he added, with the air of one who 
settles for ever a disputed point, ‘Master Calvin has 
given me his letter.* 

‘ How came he ? * 

‘*Twas my luck ; but *twas a touch of kindness too, 
I well believe. Master Antoine came and spoke for 
me ; and, moreover, Master Lyne’s messenger had gone 
home to Berne, where he was taking up a business of 
his own, and would not return. No one else who might 
fitly go was at hand.* 

‘You peril your life, Norbert* 

He almost laughed. ‘So one does every day, one 
way or another. But indeed the peril is slight. I am 
to go first to Gex, where I shall get a pass from the 
Bernese, who are friends with the French, to bring letters 
to Master Lyne of St. Gall, at Lyons. Being French 
myself, I shall do famously. Talk of that for a risk ! 

It is nothing to * He caught himself up, just in 

time not to recall the far greater risk he had run for 
her sake. 

But even in her sorrow Gabrielle understood. She 
quietly finished his sentence — ‘Nothing to what you 
dared for me.* 

‘ Will you let this also be for you, Gabrielle ? Give 
me your message, your letter, if you will — for Louis.* 

Gabrielle shook her head. ‘ I cannot write to him. 

But * Suddenly her sad face changed, glowed, like 

263 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

an alabaster lamp when the light is kindled within, 
turning the pale whiteness into soft rose fire — ‘tell him, 
God is with him. And he will soon be with God, in 
His joy and glory.’ 

‘ Shall I tell him also that you bade him be 
steadfast?’ asked Novbert, speaking in the best light 
of his age and surroundings, and ‘ white highest light ’ 
it was, austere and pure. 

But Gabrielle answered, ‘ No, Should I tell the sun 
to keep his path in the sky, and rise duly to-morrow 
morn ? Nor need you say we pray for him ; he knows 
it. But you may tell him — for we are standing by the 
grave — that I love — have loved — will love. And that 
I think God will soon let me come where he is.’ 

There was in face or voice no touch of maiden 
shyness ; these are among the things that death, when 
it comes near enough, burns away. 

‘ Give me a token for him.’ 

‘ What shall I give } ’ 

‘Anything — one of these even, if you will,* taking 
an orange from the heap beside him. 

‘That perishing thing were no fit token of what 
cannot die,’ said Gabrielle, and paused, thinking. 
Presently she took from her girdle the little ivory tablet 
which hung there with her keys, her scissors, and her 
knife. ‘ His gift,’ she said. ‘ Stay — I will write — just 
a word.’ 

Pen or pencil she had not; but with the point of 
the scissors she scratched upon the smooth polished 
^wxidsi^—jusqii d I attrore — ‘Till the day break.* Only 
that. She gave the tablet to Norbert, who said, ‘ I will 
come back as soon as I can, and tell you all.* 

264 


Norbert’s Errand 


* Do not come until — the day breaks — for him.’ 

* I understand/ he said. ‘ Farewell, Gabrielle.* 

‘ Stay. Do you need money ? ’ 

‘ Oh no, that is provided.’ He wondered she could 
think of it at such a time, and, to say the truth, felt 
a little disappointed. Would she let him go without 
a word of recognition, of thanks ? She did not. 

‘Good-bye, dear Norbert. God bless — and reward 
you ! ’ she said, giving him her hand, cold as death in 
the July sunshine. 

More in reverence than in tenderness he pressed his 
lips upon it, and was gone. 

On returning home he found, much to his relief, that 
Antoine Calvin had persuaded his father it was right 
and wise for him to go to Lyons. In any case, De 
Caulaincourt would not have refused his consent when 
Master John Calvin had approved, and entrusted 
Norbert with his letters. But Antoine argued farther, 
that it was a good thing the lad should absent himself 
from Geneva for a little while, until the talk about his 
late escapade had died away ; and also that this 
errand, well performed, would win him the respect and 
approbation of the best men in the city. The danger 
was slight; he had already shown himself adroit and 
resourceful, and in Lyons he would be under the 
guardianship of Master Lyne, the well-known and 
trusted friend of Calvin and of the martyrs. Norbert 
himself added, as an additional inducement — 

‘ If I find I can travel safely in France, I shall go on 
another occasion to Gourgolles, and bring you tidings 
of our people there.* 

So he went forth, bearing to the imprisoned 
265 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

confessors the prayers and the sympathy of all Geneva. 
That her children should lie in foreign prisons awaiting 
death for their faith was too everyday an occurrence to 
ruffle the surface of her life, but in the depths beneath 
the feeling was true and deep. Perhaps there never 
was a time in her churches when the public prayer for 
all prisoners and captives was not followed by dear, 
familiar names, breathed low and with trembling lips 
by many of the worshippers. 

But the internal affairs of the city were still at this 
time very engrossing. She was like a goodly ship just 
righting herself after a storm, and resuming, under 
better and safer auspices, her interrupted course. She 
had escaped a great danger. She had crushed the 
Libertines ; showing thus to them and to the world 
that by freedom she did not mean anarchy, nor in 
throwing off the yoke of Rome would she discard the 
restraints of morality and religion. Thenceforward 
the fair City of the Lake was to be indeed, if her children 
could make her so, the City of the Saints. 


266 


CHAPTER XXIV 

LYONS 

N ORBERT’s journey was almost too safe, and quite 
too uneventful, to please him. What should 
happen to a young clerk travelling from the 
territory of Berne with business communications for his 
master, an honest citizen of St. Gall, domiciled in 
Lyons? Unless, indeed, it occurred to some one to 
think he had money with him, and to murder him for 
the sake of it. But this was not likely, as he went by 
frequented roads, lodged at respectable inns, and, when 
he could, kept company with other travellers. 

On reaching Lyons, he put up at an inn recommended 
by no less a person than the Maire of Bellay, who was 
coming to the town with his wife and daughters to 
attend the wedding of a relative, and had obligingly 
allowed him to ride in his company for a stage or two. 
He saw his horse well bestowed in the stable of the 
Green Dragon, for he had some pride in the animal, 
the first — save a pony at Gourgolles — that he had ever 
called his own. Then he had his supper, and asked the 
garqon who waited on him where dwelt Maitre Jean 
Lyne, the silk-merchant of St. Gall. The lad did not 
know, and every one else was too busy to listen to him, 
267 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

a party of the maire’s kinsfolk having come to welcome 
him and to sup with him. Rashly confident in his 
own ability to find whatever he wanted, and to ask 
for whatever he did not know, he went out gaily to 
explore. 

But knowing, as he did, no town except Geneva 
(which was not nearly so large), he found Lyons difficult 
and bewildering. Not one of the citizens whom he 
asked knew anything about Maitre Jean Lyne, merchant 
of St. Gall. At last, however, some one directed him 
to the quarter where the silk-merchants lived. But he 
mistook the name of a street which he was to pass 
through, Lyonnese French sounding different from 
Genevan. Growing perplexed, he wandered on aimlessly, 
and came at last to a wide place with large and 
handsome houses, each in its own courtyard. 

‘ Ah,’ thought he, * this is where the great and noble 
dwell. Were I to knock at one of these gates and ask 
for a silk-merchant, the porter would take it for an 
insult, and kick me into the street. Well, at all events, 
I am seeing the town. I wonder how these places look 
inside. I wish the gate of one of them might stand 
open.’ 

His wish was gratified. He came presently to an 
open gate, which allowed him to look into a pleasant 
court, with a fountain in the midst and flowers growing 
around it He stood a moment enjoying the sight, and 
enjoying still more the sweet sounds of a mandoline, 
which was being played, and with unusual skill, by 
some one he could not see. It was marvellous, indeed, 
that such sounds could be evoked from an instrument 
so poor and narrow in its range. Norbert loved music 
268 








NORBERT DREW NEARER, AND STOOD LISTENING. 



Lyons 

with all his soul, and his taste had been well cultivated 
in Geneva, where, though dance music and profane 
songs were forbidden, all the graver kinds, which could 
minister to devotion, were much esteemed. This music 
was delicious! He told himself it must come from 
a soul attuned to harmony. Drawn unawares by its 
charm, he stepped inside the gate, and advanced 
cautiously, hoping to see the musician. 

He was successful. On a seat, so placed as to catch 
the full benefit of the evening breeze, sat a young man, 
dressed fashionably in lace and velvet, his sword at his 
side, and his short cloak hanging on the back of the 
bench. He seemed too much absorbed in his playing 
to notice the intruder. 

Thus emboldened, Norbert drew nearer, and stood 
listening, until the cessation of the sweet sounds surprised 
him with a sudden pang. 

The musician laid down his quill, raised his eyes, 
and looked, not at Norbert, but straight before him. 
Norbert thought it strange, but fortunate, that he did 
not notice him, and quietly turned to go. 

‘ Whose step is that ? ' asked the musician. 

* I am a stranger. Will it please you, sir, to excuse 
me ? The gate was open, and drawn by the music, I 
ventured to come in and listen.* 

* There is nought to excuse. But, I pray thee, who 
is it that speaks to me? lad or lady? You see — I am 
blind.* 

* I am sorry for you, sir,' said Norbert. * I am a 
young man from Switzerland, clerk and servitor of one 
Master Lyne, a merchant of St. Gall. I only arrived 
this evening, and am now in search of his dwelling. I 

269 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

was passing by with this intent when the music drew 
me, and I came/ 

The blind man laid down his mandoline, and said, 
with the air of one much surprised, ‘You are looking 
for Master Lyne ? Strange — strange ! Surely you 
were sent to me.’ 

‘ No, sir, pardon me. No one has sent me to you. 

I have not even the honour of knowing to whom I 
speak.’ 

‘You would rather know your way to the dwelling 
of Master Lyne? That which meseemeth passing 
strange is that thither I want to go, I also. Come, we 
will help each other. I will name the streets to you in 
their proper order, and you shall lead me. Give me 
thine hand.* And he rose from his seat. 

Norbert acquiesced, well pleased, though he could 
not help wondering that a young gentleman, evidently 
so wealthy, had not attendants at hand ready to do his 
bidding, in place of depending on the chance kindness 
of a stranger. ‘ Which of us is the guide ? ’ he thought, 
as he took the hand of the blind youth, which was soft 
and white as a girl’s. ‘ ’Tis surely a case of the blind 
leading, though happily not leading the blind, which 
might be awkward.’ 

‘ To the right,’ said his companion, when they passed 
out of the gate. Then, a little later, ‘ To the left, down 
that street with the Madonna at the corner.’ 

As they turned into the street, two gentlemen passed 
by. One of them saluted, and cried out, ‘Ho Ik, De 
Marsac, what brings you out so late?’ 

‘ De Marsac ! ’ Norbert had almost cried the name 
out loud in his amazement. He did not listen to the 
270 


Lyons 

answer, * I am taking a walk for my pleasure, this fine 
evening/ Nor to the rejoinder, * But what has become 
of your shadow, Grillet ? * But he heard his new friend 
say, ‘ He is ill,* and felt a touch on his arm that meant 
evidently, * Pass on/ 

He obeyed, walking on mechanically, absorbed in 
thought What should he say — what do ? How could 
he find out if this gentleman were, or were not, a 
kinsman of his friend? Still more important, was he of 
one mind with him? At last he hazarded a remark. 

* I think, noble sir, my master hath much regard for 
some one of your name/ 

‘ How know you that, being but new in his service, 
and, as I understood you to say, never here before ? ’ 

‘ Where I come from there be many Frenchmen who 
have friends here,’ Norbert said cautiously. 

‘ Not many Frenchmen, I think, in St Gall, a few 
more perhaps in Berne. Now, if haply thou wert from 
Geneva ’ 

* If I were from Geneva, noble sir, I would scarce 
proclaim it on the housetops. Not here, at least, where 
the Genevese, on account of their religion, are well 
hated/ 

‘ “ Ye shall be hated of all men, for My Name’s 
sake,” ’ the blind youth quoted softly. 

Norbert, whose verbal acquaintance with Scripture 
left little to be desired (no thanks to himself !), made 
haste to add — 

‘ “ But he that shall endure to the end, the same shall 
be saved.” ’ 

‘Ah, that enduring to the end!’ his companion 
sighed. Then, not certain yet whether he might 
271 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

wholly trust, he added: ‘You of Berne, or the other 
“ praiseworthy cantons,” need not be much afraid here, 
even on the score of religion. Berne is a good friend 
to France, and if the folk she sends us are a little lax 
at Mass and Confession, the clearest-sighted Lyonnese 
will show themselves nearly as blind as I am.* 

‘But it is far otherwise,’ said Norbert, ‘with the men 
of Geneva. Especially with the French exiles, if they 
dare to return.’ 

‘ I know it. Unhappily for me, one such bears my 
name. Two that bear my name are suffering.’ 

‘Two?’ cried Norbert. 

‘Not so loud — remember the passers-by. Yes, it is 
true, and one of them is my own brother.’ His voice 
sank low, and there was in it a thrill of pain. 

‘ Louis De Marsac, who is my best friend,’ said 
Norbert, with emotion, ‘ had never sister nor brother.’ 

‘I speak not of him, my cousin — but of Henri de 
Marsac, my dear brother.’ 

‘ And Louis, sir — your cousin — know you aught of 
him now ? ’ 

‘ I know he is in the dungeon, like to be doomed to 
die. There, too, and in like case — that I should say 
it ! — is my dear brother, the light and joy of my life.’ 

‘ Is there no hope for them ? ’ asked Norbert. He 
could not help asking, though he knew the answer too 
well. 

‘None — save on the terms they will not accept.’ 
There was a pause, then he added : ‘ You say my cousin 
was your best friend ? ’ 

‘ Is my best friend,’ said Norbert. ‘ Sir, I see that I 
may tell you all the truth. I am a child of Geneva, 
272 


Lyons 

though I came hither from Gex, which is in Bernese 
territory, and with a Bernese passport. I have come 
hoping to see, though it be for the last time, the face 
of Louis de Marsac/ 

‘As I also, with the help of Master Lyne, desire to 
see my brother.* 

* I should have thought, sir, that a noble gentleman, 
such as you * 

‘I am powerless without my father, who will do 
nothing, for he hates the religion, and with hate 
intensified a hundred-fold, now that it is costing him, 
as he thinks, his first-born son. Yet he still hopes 
that loneliness and suffering, and the lack of all things, 
joined with the terrors of the death of fire, will so work 
upon the soul of Henri that he may yield, and be saved 
Ah me, I know better ! * 

‘ Are they together in the dungeon ? * 

‘ Even that comfort is denied them. But they will 

be together soon — in heaven, while I — unhappy * 

There were tears in the blind eyes, but he drove them 
back with an effort. Presently he resumed : ‘ I ought 
to tell you how it all came about. Louis came here, 
and was preaching in secret to the little congregation 
of heretics. But he did not show himself to us, his 
kinsfolk, lest it should make trouble. However, my 
brother found him out, and must needs bring him home 
with him. My father, though he is so devout and 
though he knew Louis came from Geneva, winked at it 
at first, for his brother, the father of Louis, had been 
very dear to him. We De Marsacs have our faults like 
other men, but we are good brothers always. So Louis 
came in and out, and spoke much to Henri and to me. 

2/3 S 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

Also, he gave Henri the New Testament in French. 
Henri was used to read to me — romances, books of 
chivalry, and such like ; now, instead of these, he read 
the words of our Lord and of His apostles. They are 
good words, and we learned to love them, I as well as 
he. O God, why should he be taken, and I — the blind 
and useless — left ? * 

Norbert had no answer to give. For some minutes 
they walked on in silence ; then Ambrose de Marsac 
asked — 

‘ Where are we ? * 

Norbert described the place. 

‘ We are almost there,’ described the other. ‘ This 
is the street. Look at the third door from the corner.’ 

Over that door hung a sign bearing the arms of the 
Canton of St. Gall, and the name of Jean Lyne, dealer 
in silk and velvet. 

‘You are right, sir,’ said Norbert 

‘The shop is shut, of course. Knock thou at the 
door, and when one answers, give my name, “ The Sieur 
Ambrose de Marsac.” ’ 

Norbert obeyed, and both were presently invited to 
enter. They were brought into a matted chamber on 
the ground floor, and had hardly three minutes to wait 
ere the honest citizen of St Gall made his appearance, 
a man of middle age, with a shrewd, kindly face. 
Without looking at Norbert, whom he thought a mere 
attendant, he addressed himself to De Marsac in a tone 
of much concern. 

‘ I have tidings for you, sir,’ he said. ‘ Shall I send 
your boy to the hall to drink a cup of wine with my 
servitors ? ’ 


274 


Lyons 


* He is your servitor, Master Lyne. A new clerk— 
and something more, if I mistake not. I am thankful 
for his help in bringing me here, the one man in our 
household I can trust being ill. You may speak freely 
before him. And I pray of you to tell me all.* 

But, seeing that the merchant hesitated to speak (as 
he well might do, since a blind man might be easily 
imposed upon), Norbert, anxious as he was, had the 
sense to withdraw unbidden, closing the door behind him. 

Some time elapsed, during which he thought he 
heard the sound of weeping. 

At last the door opened, and Master Lyne called 
aloud : * Sylvester ! * A grey-haired serving - man 

appeared, and was desired to get a lantern, and wait 
at the door for the Sieur Ambrose de Marsac. 

As the blind man passed through the entry with 
Master Lyne’s hand in his, he asked — 

* Is my guide here ? * 

Norbert noticed the trembling of his voice. * Here, 
sir,* he answered. 

* I thank you,’ said Ambrose. ‘ We shall meet again. 
But I can say no more now, for — I have heard heavy 
tidings.* 

When he was gone, the merchant brought Norbert 
into the matted parlour. 

* Now, my lad,’ he said, * who are you, and what is 
your errand ? * 

* I am Norbert de Caulaincourt, from Geneva ; and 
as for my errand, this will explain it.’ He took from 
its hiding-place beneath his inner vest, and gave to 
Master Lyne, the letter of John Calvin. 

The merchant knew the writing, and with an 
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Under Calvin’s Spell 

involuntary gesture of respect, bowed his head. It 
was a royal despatch. He took out his side-knife, cut 
the silk that bound it, and broke the seals. An 
enclosure fell out, of which Norbert could read the 
superscription, ‘ A Messieurs Louis de Marsac et Denis 
Peloquin.’ 

It took the worthy merchant some time to decipher 
Master Calvin’s letter, though it was not long. At last 
he looked up and spoke — 

‘ Master Calvin says you have come here at your 
own request, and that you can be trusted.’ 

Norbert felt a glow of pride and pleasure, but also a 
thrill of surprise. ‘How could he say it.^’ he asked 
himself. ‘ Hitherto he has only known me as a froward, 
ill-guided boy.’ True ; but the great general of the 
armies of Reform was, like other great generals, a keen 
judge of character. He knew, when he saw him, the 
man to send on a forlorn hope. 

‘ Why did you want to come ? ’ pursued the 
merchant. 

‘ Partly because I must be doing something. But 
more because — I must see Louis again.’ 

‘If you can. You are just in time; their sentence 
was pronounced to-day.’ 

The two looked in silence at each other ; the merchant 
sad, but calm, Norbert’s young heart burning with a 
passion of wrath and pity and sorrow. But he did not 
ask, ‘ What ? ’ — only ‘ When ? ’ 

‘The day is not fixed. Denis Peloquin, who does 
not belong to this province, is to be sent elsewhere. 
The two De Marsacs and a brother in the Faith, one 
Stephen Gynet die here.’ 

276 


Lyons 

‘ Oh, master, I pray of you, get leave for me to see 
Louis. He is my dearest friend. Besides, I have a 
message for him, and a token/ 

‘ From a relative ’ 

* No ; from a young maiden. They were not 

betrothed, but Oh! I pray of you, get leave for 

me to see him.’ 

* I cannot get leave for thee ; we manage things 
otherwise here. But see him thou shalt, if I can do 
anything. The head jailor is my very good friend, for 
reasons of his own. I will send you to him as my 
servitor, with alms for the prisoners, and at my request 
he will manage the rest. Let me see. To-morrow being 
Sunday, we might — but no — Rondel goes to-morrow to 
see his friends, and without him we are powerless. Then, 
poor Monsieur Ambrose pleads also, and must not be 
denied. But, perhaps, now the sentence is actually 
pronounced, the father will interfere, and my help will 
not be needed there. And we must think of Monsieur 
Louis, as well as of his cousin.’ Then, in a different tone, 
‘ Monsieur, have you supped ? ’ (He said ‘ Monsieur,’ 
for the visitor’s name showed he was of noble birth 
and his own social superior.) 

‘Yes,’ said Norbert ; ‘I put up at the Green 
Dragon/ 

‘ I hope you will honour me by putting up here ? 
When Sylvester comes back, with your leave, I will 
send him for your baggage.’ 

Norbert thanked him. * I have only a saddle-bag,’ 
he said. 

‘ And a horse ? Since it is late, we may leave that 
till the morning/ 

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Under Calvin’s Spell 

So Norbert was comfortably settled under the 
hospitable roof of the merchant of St. Gall. 

‘Go to-morrow,’ said his host, ‘and see the town. 
For the present you are nothing but a young Swiss, a 
merchant’s clerk, newly come to Lyons.’ 


278 


CHAPTER XXV 


IN THE PRISON 

*He prayed, and from a happy place 
God’s glory smote him on the fece ! * 

Tennyson. 

O N the following evening, Lyne accosted Norbert, 
who was lingering fascinated about the cathedral. 
Beckoning him to walk on with him towards 
his home, he said — 

*It has been a terrible day for the De Marsacs. 
The stern old father is broken down at last, and would 
give all his wealth to save his son from the fire. He 
and the blind gentleman have both been with the poor 
lad, the father imploring him with tears to recant, the 
brother trying between whiles to speak a word of 
comfort, though beyond all comfort himself. For you I 
have been able as yet to do nothing, but I have got 
Master Calvin’s letter safe into the hands of Poquelin, 
and he will contrive to pass it on before he is taken 
away.’ 

One more day of weary watching passed ; but on 
Tuesday morning Master Lyne called Norbert, and 
asked if he would mind changing clothes with his 
apprentice. 


279 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

*I would change clothes with the hangman to get 
my will/ said Norbert. 

‘ Then will it please you to go with Renaud, who 
will give you the things, and hold his tongue about it 
afterwards ? * 

So Norbert went ; to reappear shortly in a blouse, 
and bareheaded. Jean Lyne put into his hand a large 
basket, full of food and wine. 

‘ Alms for the poor prisoners/ he said ; ‘ you carry 
them for me ; ’ and they set off together to the prison, 
Norbert walking modestly behind his master. It was 
not a long walk. They soon came to the gloomy 
gateway ; and Norbert, as in a dream, saw Master Lyne 
ring the bell, and heard him tell the porter that 
answered it that he wanted to see Master Rondel. The 
porter opened the wicket with apparent readiness. A 
head -jailer is still a man ; and, like other men, he has 
his friends, who naturally visit him sometimes. Master 
Jean Lyne was well-known to all the officials, and, with 
his companion, might have passed in unquestioned. 
But he himself said lightly, with a smile and a glance 
at the basket, ‘ Don't forget your duty, Jacques so the 
porter, for form’s sake, thrust his hand among the loaves 
and the flasks, drew it out again, and uttered the magic 
word, ‘ Passez I * with an air of authority and satisfaction, 
increased perhaps by the pleasant sensation of something 
which had been slipped into his palm. 

Master Lyne and Norbert crossed the courtyard, 
and knocked at a small private door. Here too the 
merchant was well-known, and ushered without question 
into a comfortable parlour. Norbert, in spite of his 
anxiety, noticed that there were pictures on the walls, a 
280 



THEY SOON CAME TO THE GLOOMY GATEWAY. 






In the Prison 


Virgin and Child, St. John the Baptist with the infant 
Christ, St. Jerome in the Desert. While he was 
looking at these the head -jailer entered, a small, spare, 
nervous-looking man, quite different from what Norbert 
expected. He and Master Lyne greeted like old 
friends, and fell at once into a conversation Norbert did 
not understand, only that it seemed to be about 
merchandise and money. He picked up a hazy idea 
that Rondel was in some sort a partner of Master 
Lyne’s, and had a share in his profits. But as, in his 
assumed character, he stood at a respectful distance, he 
did not hear very distinctly, and had no care to listen. 
At last, however, his wandering attention came back 
with a bound. Master Lyne was saying — 

‘ That wherein you can particularly oblige me, the 
which I shall not fail to remember, is by permitting this 
young man to see, and to hold a few minutes’ conversation 
with his friend, M. Louis de Marsac.’ 

*You know, Maitre Jean, that I can refuse you 
nothing in reason — nor some things, it may be, a little 
out of reason. Your lad shall speak with the poor 
young gentleman, but to see him, ah ! ’ he shrugged his 
shoulders expressively. ‘ I do not go there myself. It 
is not necessary to the due discharge of my office, and 

there are some things which, to a man of sensibility ’ 

Here he looked up, and his eyes rested, it may have 
been by chance, on the picture of the infant Christ. 
‘’Tis a pity those friends of yours do not see their way 
to a recantation,’ he said. Then he sounded a silver 
whistle that hung at his girdle, and presently a warder 
appeared, who took possession of Norbert. 

He was brought first to a large public room, where a 
281 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

number of prisoners, some of them in fetters, and nearly 
all with the stamp of ‘ habitual criminal ' on their brazen 
faces and * foreheads villainously low,* lounged, gambled, 
fought and swore. They would speedily have torn the 
basket out of Norbert’s hand but for the protection of 
the warder, who summoned one that seemed to exercise 
some kind of authority over the rest. 

‘Here, sir,’ he said to Norbert, ‘give this man 
anything you please, and he will share it with the 
rest.’ 

Norbert, glad to escape, gave him three bottles of 
wine and some bread and meat out of his basket, 
adding some small coins ; then he turned to the 
warder. 

‘You were to bring me au secret' he whispered. 

Now Norbert had not only seen the secret, or under- 
ground dungeon, in the Eveche, but much to his disgust 
had once occupied it for four and twenty hours— the 
longest hours in his life. He thought, therefore, that 
he knew ‘ the horror of great darkness ’ as well as any 
one. But when, after having groped, or slipped, or 
stumbled down long flights of steep, winding, broken 
stairs, he was guided into an empty room, or rather hole, 
he thought it was a lower deep than he had ever reached 
before. In the dim light of the warder’s torch, he saw 
nothing, at first, but a filthy floor and a section of 
clammy wall, though when he looked up higher, 
something like bars betrayed the presence of a narrow 
window, looking doubtless into a fosse, or ditch. The 
cell seemed empty. 

‘ Ah,’ said the warder, ‘ I forgot. The prisoner who 
was here has been removed ; for there is a hole in the 
282 


In the Prison 


corner, through which it was found that he could 
communicate with the cell underneath.’ 

‘ Underneath?' repeated Norbert, with a shiver. 

‘ Of course. As I understand, it is M. Louis de 
Marsac you want to see, not the other gentleman of the 
name, who is better off, being put in a good room, out 
of favour to his father. Come on. And take care of 
the rats.* 

The warning was not un needed, for Norbert’s legs 
were in some peril. Not without furious kicking and 
stamping did he follow the warder out in safety. 
Then he had to descend more broken, winding stairs, 
leading down, as he thought, to the very bowels of the 
earth. He seemed to be no longer breathing air, but 
damp — the very chill of death, tainted with the foulness 
of corruption. 

But all things have an end, so at last he heard the 
warder say, quite cheerfully, ‘ Here we are.’ There was 
the grating sound of a heavy key, and the groan of 
reluctance with which, after much pressure, it consented 
to turn. Then the door opened, and the warder bade 
him enter. The torchlight showed him a figure that sat 
or crouched on the floor ; then torchlight and figure 
vanished together, as the warder shut the door and 
stationed himself outside. He had promised that the 
friends should converse alone, and he was a man of his 
word. 

‘ Louis ! * Norbert faltered, ‘ Louis ! * 

‘Whose — whose voice is that?’ the tones were thin 
and weak, but the voice, unmistakably, was Louis de 
Marsac’ s. 

‘Louis, I am Norbert de Caulaincourt, thy friend.’ 
283 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

First, in the darkness, a thin cold hand sought his, 
then two wasted arms stole round him, and the friends 
were locked in a close embrace. 

There was a moment of tense, throbbing silence, 
then a sound. Louis de Marsac, the steadfast, the 
dauntless confessor, who feared neither sword nor 
dungeon, neither rack nor flame, was sobbing on the 
neck of his friend. 

What could Norbert do but weep with him, even as 
David and Jonathan of old, ‘until David exceeded’ ? 

Here Louis was the first to recover. ‘ I did not 
know I was so weak,’ he said. ‘’Tis a strange greeting 
to give thee. Dear Norbert, how earnest thou here?’ 

‘ I came to Lyons as Master Calvin’s messenger, 
with the letter which — Master Lyne says you had 
it?’ 

‘ Ay, it was read to me, and I have written to him. 
Think of that, Norbert!’ 

His voice now was quite natural, and even cheerful. 
Save for its weakness and the ‘echo of the dungeon 
stone’ in it, he might have been talking as of old, at 
Geneva, in the schools or on the Plain-palais. 

‘They let me have a light sometimes, while I eat, 
and Master Lyne had sent me paper and pen and ink 
concealed in a loaf of bread ; so I wrote this, which I 
will give thee when thou goest. Master Calvin’s words 
go down to the depths of the heart. But that which is 
in mine I cannot write, even to him. More and more 
do words seem poor to me as I lie here, and think how 
soon I shall be where they are not wanted, since we 
shall know and be known without them. But you can 
tell him, when you return, that I — that I — thank him in 
284 


In the Prison 

dying for many good things, and most of all for sending 
me here.’ 

‘Oh, Louis! You mean that you forgive\C\xci! 

‘No, no. Not forgiveness. Do men forgive those 
who give them thrones and crowns } ’ 

‘A crown in very deed, of thorns,’ said Norbert, 
thinking only of the sharp pain, not of the sacred 
memory. 

‘And a communion sweet, secret, unutterable, with 
Him who wore that crown for me.’ 

‘What does it mean, Louis? What does it all 
mean ? I cannot understand 1 ’ cried Norbert, in a passion 
of perplexed, admiring wonder. ‘You, so young, so 
full of life, with so much to love and live for, you give 
all up without a murmur. You endure all things, you 
expect death itself, and such a death — ^yet you not 
only look for joy hereafter, which a man can understand, 
but you seem to have some joy here and now which 
outweighs all ’ 

‘ An exceeding and eternal weight of glory.’ 

‘Yes. When the battle is fought and the victory 
won. But here, but now ’ 

‘ Here. Now. For I have with me what makes the 
glory, its very heart and centre — Himself.’ 

Norbert was silent, in great awe ; as if he too felt a 
Presence in that dungeon. 

‘I have come to love the darkness of this place,’ 
Louis went on. ‘It is a veil that He puts on, lest the 
glory should overpower me. He dwells in the thick 
darkness, though He is the Light, because it is but 
slowly, by degrees, that we can learn to bear the sight 
of Him without it. Though I cannot see you, yet your 
285 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

hand touches me, and I know that you are there. Sa 
with Him.* 

‘ Have you never a doubt at all, nor a fear ? * Norbert 
asked. 

‘Never a doubt of Him. Doubts of myself I have 
had sometimes, and fears. Oh, I have been through 
the flood on foot, and it was deep. But even there He 
was with me, and did not let me go. The bitterest 
thing of all — Norbert, you know all my heart. You 
remember the words we spake ere we parted in Geneva.* 

‘ I do. Louis, I have something to tell thee.* 

‘ Speak then, for I long to hear.’ Days there had 
been when Louis de Marsac could not have uttered the 
name dearest to his heart without yearning and agonizing 
pain, almost too great to be borne. Now that was 
passed for ever. Now the sound was sweet to him, so 
sweet that he used oftentimes to say it aloud over and 
over again. ‘ It is of Gabrielle Berthelier,* he said softly, 
with a voice that lingered lovingly on the name. ‘ For 
her also God has given me peace. He will accept and 
bless her sacrifice — as mine. Yea, more than mine, 
since it is greater.* 

* Louis, I have a message from her, and a token.’ 

‘Ah!* said Louis, with a ring of genuine gladness in 
his voice. 

‘Here is the token.* Norbert put into his hands 
the little ivory tablet. He knew it by the feel, and 
remembered. ‘ Thou canst not see what she wrote 
upon it,* said Norbert. ‘It is this, jusqu'd Vaurore; 
and the words she said were these, “Tell him God is 
with him, and he will soon be with God, in His joy and 
glory.’” 


286 


In the Prison 


‘True heart ! * Louis murmured. ‘ Brave, true heart ! ’ 
Tears once more were perilously near. But they passed, 
as if dried up with sunshine. He was done with tears 
for ever. ‘ Tell her He that has comforted me will 
comfort her also. She will have the stronger consolation, 
because she has the greater need, and the harder part. 
But God knows all about that, and He will make no 
mistakes by-and-by, when He comes to adjudge the 
crowns and the palms.’ 

There was a moment’s silence, yet both felt the 
moments were too precious to be spent even in such 
silences. Norbert said — 

‘ Is there anything I can do for thee, Louis ? ’ 

‘ When you go back to Geneva, tell them how it is 
with me. If you can stay here to the end, I shall be 
glad ; for the sense of human nearness and human 
fellowship is sweet. But if not, regard it not. Nor will 
I. For One is with me always. I have no fear the 
Guide will leave me ere I am through the river.’ He 
paused a moment, then added, ‘And tell her that she 
has part in every thought, as in every deed of mine. 
That I take that love with me where I go ; and since I 
can never perish, that which is a very part of me cannot 
perish — must go on for ever. Tell her not to sorrow 
overmuch, for this is but a passage, not an ending. 
And tell — but our time is past, and I have still a 
thousand things to say.’ 

For now the door opened, and the torch flashed in. 
‘Gentlemen,’ said the warder, ‘the time is up. And 
you cannot but say I gave you good measure.’ 

Norbert took hastily out of his basket the things he 
had brought for Louis, who, as he did so, slipped his 
287 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

letter for Calvin unperceived into his hand. Then the 
friends embraced, clinging to each other as the drowning 
cling to a spar for life. 

‘So much to say,’ Louis murmured. ‘A thousand 
greetings from me, and love — love to — no, I must name 
no names, lest some dear ones should be left unsaid/ 
‘We shall meet again/ said Norbert. 

‘Yes/ said Louis. ‘ Here or elsewhere.’ 


288 


CHAPTER XXVI 

IN THE CATHEDRAL 

‘For the vision, that was true, I wist, 

True as that heaven and earth exist.’ 

Browning. 

A S soon as Norbert had acquainted Master Lyne 
with the success of his mission, and ^iven into 
his keeping the precious letter for Calvin, he 
went out again, and turned his steps towards the 
cathedral. Its grandeur and solemnity, its majestic 
space and silence, had impressed him greatly, and since 
he came to Lyons he had haunted it. But to-day he 
was not thinking of its glories. His soul was so full 
already of wonder and of awe that he had none to spare 
for stately arch or fretted roof, or painted window 
kindled by the sun into a mass of many coloured jewels. 
He had seen greater things than these. He went to 
a quiet side chapel, perhaps the same where, long ago, 
in his gentle, hallowed old age, John Gerson — who had 
helped to slay John Huss for the testimony of the Lord 
they both loved — used to teach his little scholars to 
pray. Norbert knew nothing of this, nor if he had, 
would he have greatly cared : it belonged to the past, 
and for the struggling, agonizing heart of humanity 
289 T 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

the present is enough, * the matter of a day in his day.* 
He threw himself on his knees on the steps of the altar ; 
heeding the noble picture above it as little as the 
tawdry, artificial flowers, the guttering, half-burned wax 
candles upon it. It was the first time in his life that 
he, who had knelt so often, knelt before his God because 
he really wanted to be there, — because there seemed 
to him no other p’ace to be. 

‘ Then it is true — true — true ! ’ his heart was saying 
within him. ‘The truest thing in heaven or on earth. 
There is, in that dungeon with Louis, something which 
is stronger than the whole world, something which 
neither pain, nor fear, nor death can conquer. Nor 
love even. Something which makes him not only 
strong, but glad, filling him with peace and joy, peace 
that passes understanding, joy unspeakable and full of 
glory. Something? No ; some One. Some One, who 
is with him now in the dungeon, and will be with him 
by-and-by at the stake, in the fire. It is no dream — no 
pious talk of good men like my father and Master 
Calvin, because they are religious. It is real. He 
does come so — to some. I wish He would come 
to me ! ’ 

He looked up. The sun had caught a window 
above him, and sent down through the vast space a 
shaft of glory at his feet. ‘ Let the light come to me,’ 
he cried, ‘even as it has come to him!’ He said no 
more words, but, perhaps for the first time, he had 
prayed. 

At length he became aware of some one who had 
entered the little chapel, and stood watching him. He 
rose, and confronted an elderly man, in the dress of 
290 



THE TORCHLIGHT SHOWED HIM A FIGURE 
THAT CROUCHED ON THE FLOOR. 


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In the Cathedral 


a gentleman's personal servant. He looked ill and 
sorrowful, but greeted Norbert with a respectful bow, 
which showed that he quite understood that his present 
dress was a mere disguise, since had he been really a 
tradesman’s apprentice, the valet would have considered 
him his own social inferior. 

‘Do you want me ?’ asked Norbert, surprised. 

‘Yes, sir, I do. I am the servant of M. Ambrose 
de Marsac.’ 

‘ Have you a message from him ? * 

‘I have a message from his father, the Sieur de 
Marsac.’ 

Knowing what he did, Norbert felt rather alarmed. 
‘I cannot think what the Sieur de Marsac can have 
to say to me,’ he answered coldly. 

‘ Nothing to hurt you, sir, nor any one you care for, 
said the man. ‘Were it so, I would do him no service 
in the matter. For, indeed, I am not his servant, 
but M. Ambrose’s, having been with him since his 
infancy.’ 

‘Is your name Grillet?’ asked Norbert, as a light 
began to break on him. 

‘Baptiste Grillet, to serve you, sir. I had the 
migraine on Saturday, and could not lift my head from 
the pillow, else would I not have left my master to the 
charity of a stranger for his guidance. Still, it was 
fortunate, since the stranger happened to be you.’ 

‘Can I do anything for him now?’ asked Norbert. 
‘Say all that is in your mind, I know he trusts 
you.’ 

‘You can do a great deal for him, monsieur, though 
at present he thinks not of it, nor desires it. M. de 
291 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

Marsac, heretofore so stern and wrathful, and so bitter 
against the heretics, has broken down utterly now. It 
has come upon him like a thunderbolt that his son, 
his firstborn, is to die. Hitherto he would not believe 
it, say what we might to move him into doing something 
for the poor young gentleman. He would have it 
always that when death came close to him, M. Henri 
would recant. He little knew him, though he was his 
son.* Here Grillct paused, probably to crush down 
emotions that would have disturbed the staid decorum 
of his demeanour. * Now he knows the truth,* resumed 
the valet, ‘he is in despair. He dreads the loss, not 
of one son, but of both, and as it were almost in a 
day ; for M. Ambrose thinks as M. Henri does, and 
in his anguish at losing the brother he adores, is sure 
to betray himself somehow, and bring the priests 
upon us.’ 

* Surely,* said Norbert, ‘ his infirmity would protect 
him.’ 

Grillet shook his head. ‘ Nothing protects the 
heretic,* he said, lowering his voice cautiously at the 
fateful word. 

‘ But how does M. de Marsac think I can help him ? * 
asked Norbert. 

* By taking M. Ambrose with you to Geneva,* said 
Grillet, drawing nearer, and still speaking in an 
undertone. 

‘ Would he come ? * 

‘M. Ambrose? Next to following in his brother’s 
footsteps, which is the thing he would like best, he 
would like to go to that nest of heretics — forgive me the 
word, monsieur.* 


292 


In the Cathedral 


* I thought, perhaps, you were of your master’s way 
of thinking,’ said Norbert. 

‘ I don’t know what to think ; and truly, in my place 
as a servant, I have no right to think at all, but to do as 
my betters tell me.’ 

‘ Every one has a right to think,’ said the child of 
Geneva. 

‘ On the whole,’ continued Grillet, * I incline to take 
my chance in the next world, as I do in this, with M. 
Ambrose. I have served him since he left his nurse’s 
arms ; and if the good God seemed to do a hard thing 
in sending him into the world without his eyesight, at 
least He did His best to make it up to him by the good 
heart and the fine wit He gave him.’ 

‘ Then, if he comes to Geneva, you will come 
too?’ 

‘Certainly, monsieur. What else? But it is there 
we want your help. You can answer for my master, 
that he is truly one of your sort ; and for me, that at 
least I am no enemy. They need not go about to burn 
me for a — a — what is it, monsieur, that your people 
call Catholics ? ’ 

‘A Papist. But we do not burn Papists in Geneva. 
It is true, however, that we do not let them come into 
the town — when we can help it, which is not always. 
You need not fear any violence, Grillet. But you will 
have to do without Mass and Confession, and the 
rest.’ 

‘ I dare say I shall manage,’ Grillet said drily. ‘ Well 
then, M. Norbert (I think that is your honourable name ? ), 
in return for your good word in Geneva, and your good 
company for his son by the way, my master will be at 

293 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

all charges, and do his utmost to secure your safety and 
comfort. Of course he will provide handsomely for M. 
Ambrose in Geneva, so that we shall not be burdensome 
to those who receive us there. I make no doubt there 
will be good hostelries, or lodgments, to be had for hire 
or purchase ? ’ 

‘ Certainly,’ said Norbert. ‘ But I ought to tell you, 
that if you and your master came to us friendless and 
penniless, as did my father and I, and many another, 
still every house in Geneva would be open to receive 
you, and every citizen would be ready to give you food 
and shelter, as good as he had for himself and his own 
children.’ 

‘You are strange people, monsieur. And I quite 
see,’ he added, with extraordinary candour, ‘ the falsehood 
of all the popular reports about you. I do not for a 
moment believe — not I ! — that you worship the devil, or 
practise horrible vices in secret, or — but forgive me, 

monsieur, for naming such things ’ He broke 

off, warned by the look on Norbert’s young face, 
though the thought of Louis kept him patient. 
‘ Wh^n do you wish to go ? ’ he asked at last, quietly 
enough. 

‘ M. de Marsac would fain send us off at once, in his 
terror lest M. Ambrose should compromise himself ; but 
I know that no power on earth will prevail on M. 
Ambrose to stir until all is over.’ 

‘Nor will I,’ Norbert said briefly. 

‘But that will be — next Saturday,’ Grillet added 
sorrowfully. 

Norbert started. ‘Are you sure?* he asked, in a 
breathless whisper. 


294 


In the Cathedral 

Grillet bowed his head, and there was silence between 
them. 

The servant broke in. ‘ We can start on Sunday,* 
he said. 

‘Or better, on Monday,* said the child of Geneva, 
where the day of rest was kept far more strictly than in 
Romanist, or even in other Protestant communities. 

But Grillet objected, ‘ Sunday were the better day, 
when folk are keeping holiday, and we coiild go forth as 
if to visit friends in the country. Moreover, every 
day is an added danger, and M. de Marsac will grow 
impatient.’ 

‘ If there be sufficient reason for going on Sunday, 
we may go,’ Norbert agreed. ‘ But on all the details of 
our plan we must consult Master Lyne, for to him 
was I recommended, that he should guide me in all 
things.* 

And to none better could you have been sent, M. 
Norbert. What we would have done without him, in all 
this trouble, assuredly I know not. He has wonderful 
influence with the jailor, and with all his underlings. 
No doubt he has paid well for it’ 

‘ Come this evening, and hear what he says,’ said 
Norbert. They had come out of the side chapel, 
and were walking down the nave, conversing in 
low tones, when the great voice of the organ, rising 
suddenly to heaven, filled their ears and silenced their 
lips. 

Grillet paused. ‘ Some function is beginning,’ he 
said. ‘ I will stay for it. M. Ambrose will not want 
me yet* 

‘ So will not I,* said Norbert, parting from him, and 
295 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

walking on resolutely to the great door, out from the 
tempered gloom into the free sunshine of heaven. ‘ I am 
done with all that,’ he said to himself * It can never 
tempt me more. Its spell was broken for ever in the 
dungeon of Louis.* 


296 


CHAPTER XXVII 

DARK DAYS 

*0h, ye lifted up your head, 

And it seemed as if ye read, 

That this death then should be found 
A Valhalla for the crowned, 

The heroic who prevail ; 

None, be sure, could enter in 
Far below a Paladin 
Of a noble, noble tale. — 

So awfully, ye thought upon the dead.* 

E. B. Browning. 

M eanwhile, to some in Geneva, the days dragged 
on very heavily. No one realized more fully 
than Berthelier the peril of the prisoners of 
Lyons. But its effect upon him was contrary to what 
might have been expected. He said very little ; to 
Gabrielle scarcely anything, but his manner to her, 
always gentle, acquired an added tenderness. What 
was more strange, his health, from the hour he heard 
of it, seemed actually to improve. He ate his food 
with determination, if not with appetite ; and he made 
every day a little more exertion. With the help of 
De Caulaincourt’s arm, he could soon walk a street or 
two, though very weary afterwards. In those days he 
297 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

was always weary, and the longing for rest was strong. 
‘ But not yet,' he would say to himself, ‘ not yet. Not 
while Gabrielle needs me.' 

Little indeed could he, or any one, do for Gabrielle 
now. There is a loneliness in great sorrow, like the 
loneliness of death, of which it is the shadow. Well- 
meant words of consolation simply passed over her 
without making any impression. Many such were 
spoken ; for it was not an age of reticence, and in a 
community so closely knit together as that of Geneva, 
it could not now be anything but an open secret that 
the young missionary Louis de Marsac might have been 
* troth-plight ’ to Gabrielle Berthelier, but for that new 
law of the consistory which obliged marriage to follow 
betrothal within the space of six weeks. But she heard 
all with the same courteous indifference. Only once 
was she known to grow angry, and that was with her 
mild, inoffensive aunt. 

‘I think, iny dear,’ Claudine said to her one day, 
‘we ought not yet to give up hope.' 

Gabrielle looked at her with great, sad eyes, like 
those of some gentle animal who suffers without hope, 
but also without fear or anger. 

/You know, my child, if so be they recant, they will 
be saved — for earth, and the way to heaven is ever 
open.’ 

‘ You know not what you say ! ’ flashed the girl. ‘ The 
very utterance of the word is insult — to God’s blessed 
martyrs.' And she left the room in wrath, the white, 
still wrath of a broken heart. 

All this time the earth was iron and the heavens were 
brass to Gabrielle Berthelier. Hitherto, her short life 
298 


Dark Days 

had only one dark hour, the hour when she anticipated 
a terrible separation from all she loved, and a lonely lot 
amongst strangers and enemies. She had borne herself 
right bravely then. For, at the worst, she could die, 
and to one who knew herself * a daughter of the Lord 
Almighty,* what was death, that she should fear it ? 
Death could be borne, suffering could be borne — for 
herself. It was when they touched a dearer life that 
her heart sank, and * there was no more spirit left in ’ 
her. Louis was the very self of self, the very soul of 
soul to her. During the dreary days since she heard 
the tidings of his imprisonment, her body was in Geneva, 
but her true life all the time was lived in that dungeon 
in Lyons. Every pang of weariness, of hunger, of pain, 
every natural shrinking from the doom of fire, her 
shuddering soul passed through, not once but a hundred 
times. She bore the suffering vicariously, and she bore 
it by herself. She never dreamed that its bitter waters, 
as they broke over her hour by hour, were amongst 
those of which the promise holds good : ‘ When thou 
passest through the waters, I will be with thee.’ That 
promise belonged to Louis, and for him she pleaded it 
with agonized earnestness, wrestling sore with the Lord 
through the silent, wakeful watches of the night. But 
even for him she could not feel that she was heard. A 
dark cloud encompassed her, and there was no rift in 
it through which the light could pierce. ‘Why did 
God let this thing happen ^ * was the cry of her heart 
continually. With her training — narrow, intense, and 
above all things true — in absolute, unquestioning 
submission to the will of God, there was but one source 
to which she could ascribe such questionings. She 
299 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

had not the relief of the old prophet’s pathetic: *Yet 
let me talk with Thee concerning Thy judgments ; ’ 
there was set before her only the lesson — sublime, but oh 
how stern ! “ It is the Lord ; let Him do what seemeth 

Him good.’ 

She said His will must be done, but she did not say, 

‘ Thy will be done ; ’ and underneath all other pain she 
was profoundly conscious of the fact. It lay on her 
heart like a stone, heavy, cold, unmoving. Although 
not because of this did He cease to bless her, yet 
because of this she ceased to know that He was blessing 
her. She lost the unutterable comfort of feeling, in the 
darkness, the touch of His hand. 

‘She is like a dead person walking about,* said 
Claudine and Marguerite to each other. Possibly she 
would have really died, had not a little help come to 
her, as our help in trouble so often does, in the guise of 
a new misfortune. 

One morning she sat as usual, distaff in hand, at the 
mechanical task which left her thoughts free to dwell 
in the dungeon with Louis de Marsac. Berthelier sat 
in the room apparently reading, but really sharing in 
silence her sorrowful thoughts ; Claudine was attending 
to some household matter, and Marguerite had gone to 
the market. 

There were steps and voices at the street door, 
then a cry from Claudine that brought Gabrielle down- 
stairs in a moment, whilst Berthelier followed her 
slowly. 

It was Marguerite, borne back to them on a stretcher, 
groaning with pain. The old woman, though very 
vigorous for her years, had been for some time growing 
300 


Dark Days 

unfit for these marketing excursions, yet she would by 
no means depute them to Claudine or Gabrielle, or even 
to both of them together. 

‘The damoiselle would faint if she saw a chicken’s 
neck twisted,’ she said ; ‘ while Gabrielle would give those 
thieving Grey-feet every blessed denier they chose to 
ask ; and ’tis a mercy Master Calvin has put his foot 
down, and will let no stale vegetables or rotting fruit be 
sold in the market, or any fool might take the two of 
them in.* 

So she went once too often. Returning with her heavy 
basket on her arm, she slipped and fell, to be taken up 
by the market-women, and carried home by the market 
men with a broken leg. She entreated them, amidst 
her groans, to bring her at once to the hospital, but this 
they would not do without the leave of her master, who 
dismissed the proposal with scorn, and begged the 
bearers to lay his servant on her own bed. The nearest 
barber-surgeon was sent for at once, and, with Gabrielle 
waiting upon him, set the injured limb. He said the 
old woman’s life was in no danger ; but it would be 
weeks before she was able to put her foot to the ground ; 
if indeed, at her age, she could expect ever to do so 
again. 

Here was a prospect ; — for Berthelier in all worldly 
matters as simple as a child ; for Claudine, helpless from 
her convent life, and more than half an invalid ; and for 
Gabrielle, engulfed in the depths of her sorrow. The 
neighbours, especially the Calvins next door, were kind 
and helpful, and a temporary servant was found in the 
grand-daughter of their faithful Jeannette. But she was 
a girl younger than Gabrielle, with plenty of goodwill 

301 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

but little sense, and a prodigious talent for forgetting. 
Any one who has been in a household deprived suddenly 
of its one practically executive member, will be able to 
pity the Bertheliers. It added to their difficulties that 
Marguerite not only left work, but made work for every 
one ; for she required careful tendance, and it is but fair 
to say that she had it. 

She was not a model patient: she bore pain with 
fortitude, but helplessness galled and fretted her. She 
not only could not believe that others could do her 
work as well as she did, which perhaps was true, but 
she could not believe that they could do it at all, which 
was not true. Her impatience, and the sharp words 
she would use to Gabrielle, and still more to the 
unfortunate little Benoite, provoked Claud ine to say 
to her one day — 

‘If I were so sure as you seem to be that I was 
elected by the good God before the foundation of 
the world to everlasting glory, I should not think it 
worth my while to be so wroth because the morning 
soup is just a little burned.’ 

‘Elected?’ Marguerite repeated. ‘At all events, I 
was elected to see that the master’s food is fit for him 
to eat.’ 

Perhaps her theology was better than she knew. 
Election to glory means also election to duty, or it 
means nothing at all. 

Notwithstanding the many delinquencies which 
Marguerite noted and reproved, Gabrielle in this 
emergency did well. She learned the secret of the 
double life ; she could make the soup after Marguerite’s 
notions and her father’s tastes ; she could wash, sweep, 
302 


Dark Days 

and dust, with enough of her mind in these things to 
guide her hands aright, but with her heart elsewhere. 
Yet, as division must always weaken, the strain upon 
her slackened, just enough to let her live. Work was 
not a cure for her pain, but it was an anodyne ; it 
did not lessen the cause, but it dulled the nerves of 
suffering. 

One day Claudine and Gabrielle went together to 
the market ; for, as Marguerite reflected with grim 
satisfaction, it took two people now to do badly what it 
had taken one to do well. As they returned, they met 
a small party of horsemen, who had just entered the 
town by the Pont de I’Arve. They were two or three 
Swiss, who looked like substantial burghers from Berne ; 
there was a young gentleman, dressed after the French 
fashion, whose bridle was held by a servant who rode 
beside him, and there was — Norbert. He bowed in 
silence to his two friends, looking, as Claudine thought, 
manly, grave, and sad. Gabrielle did not think at all ; 
a mist swam before her eyes, and but for Claudine she 
would have fallen. 

Quickly and silently they went home. As they 
drew near Claudine whispered — 

‘ Shall we go next door ? ’ 

‘ No,^ Gabrielle answered, ‘ he will come.’ 

When they came in, she began at once, with feverish 
energy, to prepare the vegetables they had brought for 
their meal. But Claudine soon observed that she could 
not see ; her hands were moving vaguely without 
guidance from her eyes. 

‘ Go to thy chamber, child/ she said. * 1 will call 
thee when he comes.* 


303 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

So Gabrielle went, and knelt beside her bed, not 
praying — what was there to pray for? — yet sending up 
out of the depths of her agony humanity’s unconscious, 
inarticulate cry to the great Father. She knew not 
whether moments had passed or hours before she heard 
Berthelier’s voice, that voice which 

‘Aye for (her) 

Its tenderest tones were keeping,* 

calling softly, ‘ Gabrielle ! ’ 

They were all in the living-room : Berthelier in the 
easy-chair, which he seldom now left ; De Caulaincourt 
leaning over it ; Claudine seated near him ; Norbert 
standing up, straight and tall, his young face touched 
with a gentle, reverent solemnity. As Gabrielle entered, 
he turned and looked at her. Henceforward he saw 
only her, as she saw only him. But they spoke no word 
of greeting. 

‘ He is with God,’ he said. 

It seemed to Gabrielle that she had known it 
for years — for all her life — even though that very 
morning she had thought of him as suffering still 
in the dungeon. Something in her face made De 
Caulaincourt place a chair for her, and draw her 
gently into it. 

‘ Best tell all,’ he said to his son. 

‘ As I can, since I have seen all,’ said Norbert. ‘ I 
saw the martyrs as they heard their sentences. Our 
brother, Denis Peloquin, was not with them ; he was 
taken thence, and has glorified God elsewhere. But 
there were three, Etienne Gynet, Henri de Marsac — and 
Louis. Others were there also, doomed to lesser 

304 



AS GABRIELLE ENTERED HE TURNED AND 
LOOKED AT HER. 





Dark Days 

punishments. After the sentence, the hangman came 
with halters of rope, which he put on the necks of the 
condemned. But when he came to Louis, the last save 
his cousin Henri, he paused, and the judge who presided 
said that point was excused him, seeing he was of noble 
birth. Thereat spake Louis with a smile : ** By what 
right, sir, do you deny me the collar of the most 
excellent Order of Martyrs > ” Thus in joy and gladness 
he went forth to die.’ Norbert paused, but presently 
went on with an effort : ‘ God was with him to the end. 
But I cannot talk of it — yet. Only, there was no sign 
of fear or pain. While he could speak he prayed. And 
he threw this to me from the fire.’ 

It was the little ivory tablet. He gave it into the 
hand of Gabrielle, saying, as he bent over her — 

‘ There is a message — another time.’ 

‘ No,’ said Gabrielle, looking up with a strange light 
in her tearless eyes ; ‘ all are friends here.’ 

‘ He said, “ Tell her He that has comforted me will 
comfort her also ; she will have the stronger consolation, 
because she has the greater need.” ’ 

A quiver ran through her frame as she heard ; but 
otherwise she made no sign. Yet there was something 
in her face that moved De Caulaincourt to say — 

‘ Come away, my son ; thou hast said enough.* 
Norbert felt the touch of an ice-cold hand, and heard 
a voice which seemed to be miles away, saying, * Thank 
you.’ Then he followed his father out. Claudine went 
also, with the word — 

* I must tell Marguerite.’ 

There was a great silence in the room. * Come 
hither, my child,’ Berthelier said at last. 

305 


U 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

She came, and knelt down beside his chair. He laid 
his hand on her head, and said softly — 

‘ God comfort thee ! * 

Then at last 

‘ Like summer tempest came the tears,* 

and with them there mingled presently the slow, 
reluctant drops of age. 

Gabrielle’s tears brought healing with them ; or 
rather they were themselves the token of the healing 
that had come to her. It was not long before she rose, 
and stood upon her feet. In her face there was a strange 
calm, in her eyes a light— the light that comes from 
beyond sun or star. Her voice was clear, and did not 
fail or falter, as she said — 

‘“Thanks be unto God that giveth us the victory, 
through Jesus Christ our Lord ! ” For the battle is over 
now, and the victory is won.’ 

Thus for Gabrielle the darkness passed, and the 
light shone out again. At first every thought of sorrow 
for herself was swallowed up in the wonder and the joy 
for another. Louis was safe — was free — was with Christ 
for ever. Should she not be glad of this, she who loved 
him so ? If she had drunk of the cup of anguish with 
him, could she not also drink of the cup of joy ? In 
thought, she went in where he had gone ; in thought, 
she stood with him upon the crystal sea, where there is 
no more sorrow, nor crying, neither is there any more 
pain, but the harpers sound upon their harps of gold the 
praises of God and of the Lamb. 

But this mood could not last for ever. These 
glimpses of glory are of their very nature evanescent, 
306 


Dark Days 

and must needs pass from us, else would they destroy 
the balance and the continuity of our earthly life. But 
one who has once had them, who has once, even faint 
and far, ‘ seen the gates of Eden gleam,* can never quite 
forget — can never be quite the same afterwards. And 
perhaps to no one are the visions ever given — or rather, 
no one is able to receive them — who has not first gone 
down to the depths of a great agony. 


307 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


OLD THINGS PASS AWAY 

•I know thee, who has kept my path, and made 
Light for me in the darkness, tempering sorrow 
So that it reached me like a sudden joy.’ 

R. Browning. 

< T^ATHER,’ Gabrielle asked the next day, ‘ wilt thou 
X give thy child a boon ? ’ 

What could he refuse her now ? The answer 
came promptly without pause or condition — 

‘Thou hast it.’ 

‘Next Sunday is the day of the Holy Supper. I 
want to thank God for His martyr, who eats and drinks 
now in His Kingdom. Come with me, dear father.’ 

The old man bowed his head. ‘ Child, I am not 
worthy,’ he said. 

‘ With Him there is no worthiness, save love. And 
you love.’ 

He thought a moment, then said; ‘But it is not 
possible. If ’twere only confessing Him before the 

world, and any one were free to do it But the 

pastors have to be satisfied, and the consistory. I 
should be debarred, like my kinsfolk.’ 

‘ I do not think so, father. They know you now. 
Pastor Poupin, who esteems you, would speak for you.’ 
308 


old Things pass away 

Sister Claudine was present, and, much to her brother’s 
astonishment, spoke out bravely — 

* If I am allowed, I will bear you company. I may 
as well be really what I have been in seeming. Standing 
between two steps, with a foot on each, is neither safe 
nor pleasant. If I can save my soul in Geneva — and 
more and more I incline to think I can — it must be in 
the way of Geneva. So let us lose no time in sending 
for that pastor, whom we know for a devout and kindly 
person, and getting him to shrive us, or whatever else 
you call the necessary preparation,’ 

‘Norbert passes his door,’ said Gabrielle, *on his 
way to school.’ 

Norbert went to school no longer now ; the rest of 
his education he was to get in another way. But he 
had an errand of his own to the pastor. He had already, 
like others of his age, been under preparation for his 
first communion, but at Christmas, and again at Easter 
(for these great Christian festivals were observed in 
Calvin’s Geneva, and by his desire), he had been rejected 
as unfit. It appeared, however, from what followed, 
that now he was able at least to satisfy Pastor Poupin ; 
who also took upon him, at Berthelier’s request, to 
answ r for him and for his sister. He had paid him, 
since his illness, several visits, of which he reported his 
impressions to Master John Calvin in these words — 

‘ I believe he is a branch of the True Vine, though 
peradventure a branch running over the wall.’ 

The morning of the first Sunday in September rose 
clear and fair over the towers and houses of Geneva. 
Berthelier, Claudine, and Gabrielle set out betimes for 
their parish church of St. Gervais, and were joined, ere 

309 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

they had gone many steps, by De Caulaincourt and 
Norbert. 

‘ The Calvins go to St. Peter’s, as is meet and right,’ 
said De Caulaincourt. ‘But Norbert and I desire to 
come with you.’ 

In spite of the sorrow that weighed on every heart, 
there was in De Caulaincourt’s face a look of sweet 
peace and satisfied desire, and the tones in which he 
said, ‘Norbert and I,* were good to hear. 

The pastor who preached in St. Gervais that day was 
no renowned champion of the Faith whose voice still 
echoes down the ages. He preached no grand ‘ historic 
sermon,’ leaving tones that linger with us yet. He was 
only a simple, faithful Christian man, and a true pastor, 
who loved his work, his people, and above all, his Lord. 
Yet in his plain and quiet words there was something 
that drew every heart, and made it beat in unison with 
his own. And the secret of his power is not lost yet, 
nor ever will be, until the end shall come, and the last 
earthly lover of the Name of Jesus shall be gathered in, 
to be with Him where He is for ever. Pastor Poupin 
‘ spake of Him.’ He made every one present feel that 
he, or she, had in Him an ever-living, ever-loving Friend, 
who knew every thought, shared every sorrow, helped in 
every danger. This Friend had died for each — and 
would not each be willing joyfully to die for Him, as 
some, well-known to them all, had just now been called 
to do } Then let them draw near, and eat of His Bread 
and drink of His Cup, the Cup of fellowship with Him 
in His suffering and His glory, the Cup also of fellowship 
in Him with those who had gone before. Surely they 
might believe that these, their fellow-guests, were 
310 


Old Things pass away 

partaking with them now, even though they sat at 
another Table, and a veil, or curtain, concealed them 
from their view. Present here with us, as there with 
them, was the Master of the Feast. And here, as of 
old, would He make Himself known to each, ‘in the 
breaking of bread.* 

The solemn service over, the congregation dispersed, 
all going quietly to their homes. But even the strict 
Genevan customs allowed, after the second priche, 
which was at two o’clock, a pleasant afternoon walk on 
the Cr6ts, or in the Plain-palais. Norbert and his father 
enjoyed it to the full, and talked much about many 
things. On their homeward way they visited Norbert’s 
blind friend, Ambrose de Marsac, who, with his servant 
Grillet, was domiciled in a printer’s family. M. de 
Maisonneuve had offered to receive him ; but since, 
through his father’s liberality, he was well able to pay 
his own charges, it was judged best that the wealthy 
Maisonneuves should keep their hospitality for the 
many destitute who required it. 

The Bertheliers stayed at home ; and Claudine and 
Gabrielle told Marguerite all that passed, and condoled 
with her upon her absence. 

‘The only one of us wanting,’ said Claudine. 

‘And,’ said Marguerite, ‘the only Holy Supper I 
have missed since Master Calvin began to give it.’ 

‘ But I hope you will be with us next time,’ Gabrielle 
added kindly. 

After supper, Marguerite was helped to bed, and 
Berthelier, Claudine, and Gabrielle sat together. 
Berthelier had been very silent all day, but now he 
seemed inclined to talk. ‘ Claudine,’ he said, ‘ dost 
3TI 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

remember the old days, how on Sundays we used often 
to sup with M. Levrier ? ’ 

‘ Yes, indeed, I remember well. Some of your 
friends of that time, Ami, were what one might call 
mad-cap, or, to put it mildly, and use your own word, 
coquard. Do you remember your Cousin Philibert’s 
song, which we used all of us to sing — in fact, every one 
sang it then, even the gamins in the streets ? 

‘“Vivent ces Huguenots gentils, 

Frisques, prompts k tout faire. 

Ils sont coquards et beaux-fils, 

Chaqu’un d’eux est pour nous plaire.** 

Ah, well I — now we sing psalms and hymns, which no 
doubt are better, especially for the young. Brother, do 
you know that a few days ago, in clearing out that old 
painted chest in your chamber, I found your cock’s 
feather, laid carefully aside, and wrapped in a piece of 
silk?’ 

‘Ah, the badge of liberty! Well, I never shrank 
from wearing it, even in the face of tyrants. Nor did 
Philibert. He was a great man — was Philibert Berthelier 
— something like Master Calvin in his power over the 
people, though a strange contrast in other things. Both 
were born to rule. Prithee, sister, indulge my folly, and 
bring me hither that old adornment of my cap.’ 

She brought it to him. He took it, looked at it 
lovingly, and passed his fingers over it with a caressing 
touch. 

After a pause he spoke, but dreamily, as if to himself. 
‘ All my youth is in it It tells me of lost hopes, lost 
dreams, lost causes. But most of all it minds me whose 
312 


Old Things pass away 

fingers touched it, whose hand placed it in my cap. A 
dearer hand than thine, Claudine, and,’ — he added, with 
a kindly look at her — ‘ that is much to say.’ 

She answered the look. ‘ I know,’ she said gently. 
‘Yolande. But, Ami, I never heard what became of 
her?* 

* When the noble Ldvrier was foully slain by cruel 
tyrants, she lost a dear father by adoption, and a home. 
And two years later, God called her to Himself from a 
world she did not love. That is all I know, or have 
ever known. But of late I have sometimes thought — 
we may meet yet. Eternity is a great word. It is not 
time, and certainly it is not space, yet I always think of 
it as a vast pillared hall, of which no man can come to 
the end, nor even see it, though he go on and on for a 
thousand years. But, as he goes, old well-known faces, 
faces he loves, may peradventure look at him from 
between the pillars.’ 

‘ But I,’ said Gabrielle, softly, ‘ I think of Eternity as 
Home.’ 

Here Norbert came, to ask after Master Berthelier, 
and to hope the fatigue of the long service had not 
hurt him. 

Berthelier said he had not felt so well since his 
illness, adding, as he looked at the tall, handsome 
lad standing in the doorway — 

‘How you are grown, Norbert! You are a man 
now. But come in, and sit down with us.’ 

Norbert was nothing loth, and Berthelier went on, 

‘ ’Twere time, methinks, thou didst choose an honest 
calling for thyself, especially as thy heart, so far as I can 
tell, goes not much with the schools.’ 

313 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

* I have chosen/ said Norbert, in a low voice. ‘ Or 
rather, my calling has chosen me.* 

It was Gabrielle who spoke next, with a flush on her 
pale face, and an animation in her tone that surprised 
every one. 

‘ Are you going to preach the Gospel ? Oh, 
Norbert * 

‘No. I could not preach. I have no words, nor 
skill, nor learning. But I can serve those who preach.’ 
After a pause, he added, ‘ I am ambitious, yet not so 
greatly as to want God’s best. That is for “ the noble 
army of martyrs.’* I will content me with the second 
best — to spend my life as the servant and the friend of 
the martyrs.’ 

‘ ’Tis a grand calling,’ said Berthelier. 

‘ I am vowed/ Norbert went on, the feeling the day’s 
services had evoked overcoming all his reserve. ‘ In 
the Cathedral of Lyons, after — after I had been in that 
prison — I took my oath in God’s sight. And you know 
there is work that wants doing. There are always some 
of ours in peril or in prison. Master Calvin cares for 
them — oh, he cares — but there needs some one — a link 
between him and them — to bring letters and do errands. 
That link means me.’ 

‘And your father. Have you told him?’ the 
question was Berthelier’s. 

‘ I have ; and he is glad beyond words.’ Then, 
turning to Gabrielle, and speaking with sudden hesitation 
and timidity, ‘ Damoiselle, you approve } ’ 

‘With all my heart. May you comfort in his need 
many another servant of God.’ Then she added softly, 
‘ God bless you.’ 


314 


Old Things pass away 

* Take my blessing too/ said Berthelier. 

When Norbert was gone, Berthelier still sat musing 
the feather in his hand. 

‘Yes/ he said, looking at it, ‘it has brought back 
the old life. That old life had good in it, for perhaps 
the new Geneva would not have been possible without 
it. And yet I say not, “the old is better.” No! For 
I, even I, have come to drink of the new wine at 
last, and I bear witness that it is good. The Geneva 
of Master Calvin is not the Geneva of the Huguenots, 
of Philibert Berthelier, of Ami L^vrier, of gay Prior 
Bonivard, it is not the Geneva of wh'ch we dreamt 
in our hot, passionate youth. But it is more. It is 
the Geneva of the new Faith, the new World, the 
new Life. It is the home of truth and constancy, of 
strong, high thought and brave doing. It is the shelter 
of the unfortunate, the refuge of the oppressed from 
every land under heaven. God hath spoken, “Let 
Mine outcasts dwell with thee, Geneva,” and she hath 
answered, “Yes.” Therefore He will bless her. And I 
— I also — I bless her, yea, and she shall be 
blessed I * 

‘ Bless God for all, brother ! * said Claudine. ‘ That 
must be the best thing always.’ 

The words of a psalm, which had been read during 
the services of the day, came to the lips of Berthelier. 
He rose slowly, leaning on his staff, and spoke with 
upraised, kindling eyes — 

‘ “ Blessed be His holy Name for ever and ever : and 
let the whole earth be filled with His glory ; Amen, and 
Amen.” ’ 

Then he went to rest. And that night he rested 

315 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

well. So well, that when Gabrielle came to his side in 
the morning it was plain even to her young eyes that 
some one else — a King, yet no King of Terrors — had 
been there before her, and had set upon the quiet face 
his royal seal, the inscription upon which is ‘Peace/ 


31^ 


CHAPTER XXIX 

BEARING THE BURDEN OF THE YEARS 

‘ He works his work, I mine/ — Tennyson. 

N O one would have called Ami Berthelier a 
particularly fortunate man. Yet in his death 
he was more fortunate than many of the great 
and famous of earth. Such do not always leave 
behind them those to whom the world will never be 
the same again. To Claudine and to Marguerite 
the old Huguenot was the very centre of all things; 
and if to Gabrielle he could not be just that, he was 
not the less, but even the more, intensely beloved. It 
was some consolation that all Geneva shared their 
sorrow, and paid every token of respect and affection 
to the citizen she had learned so late to respect and 
love. So great was the crowd that followed him to 
his resting-place in the Plain-palais, that Marguerite 
averred Master Calvin himself could not have a finer 
luneral. 

‘If it had been his,' sighed poor Claudine, ‘how 
much better for ns ! ’ 

‘ Ay, damoiselle ; but not for Geneva. Nor for the 
Church, nor for the world, as the dear master himself 
would have been the first to say.' 

317 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

Amongst the numerous visits of consolation paid tc 
the mourners, they were honoured with one from the 
uncrowned King of Geneva himself. He brought 
Gabrielle a very real comfort, in the brief note written 
by Louis de Marsac in his dungeon, which he put into 
her hand, saying, ‘ I believe you have the right to 
read it/ 

At the first words a thrill passed through her : ^ I 

could not tell you, sir and brother ’ Gabrielle 

looked up into the strong, worn face that was bending 
over her compassionately. So Louis called him 
* brother ! ’ No more a great gulf between them, no 
more son and father, no more young, unknown student 
and great, renowned master! Nay, even now, as she 
read, the young had outstripped the old, and was older 
than he in eternity ! After a time she went on. The 
words were these : ‘ I could not tell you, sir and brother, 
the great comfort I received from the letters which you 
sent to my brother Denis Poquelin, who found means 
of passing them to one of our brethren who was in an 
underground cell above me, and read them to me, 
inasmuch as I can see nothing in my dungeon. I 
pray you therefore to persevere in aiding us always 
with the like consolation, which moves us to weep and 
pray.’ 

' They weep no more now,’ said Calvin, ‘ and if still 
they pray, it is as the souls under the altar, of whom 
we read in the Apocalypse.' Something more he added, 
which, like much else in those days, passed over the 
mind of Gabrielle, and left no trace. But her thoughts 
came back, when he called that which happened at 
Lyons for himself also ‘ a most crushing sorrow.’ * Yet,’ 
318 


Bearing the Burden of the Years 

he added, ‘I would not now desire to be free from all 
that sorrow at the price of not having known Louis de 
Marsac. To the end of my days his memory will be 
ever sacred unto me, and I am persuaded that it will 
be also sweet and comforting.* Then he spoke of the 
newer sorrow, giving thanks that her adopted father 
had been left with them until he could declare himself 
in the sight of all a member of the body of Christ. 
* There can be no doubt,* he said, ‘ that Christ will bind 
together both them and us in the same inseparable 
society, and in the incomparable participation of His 
own glory.* 

Then, with a kindly, almost a tender, ‘ God bless 
thee, my child,* the great man departed ; leaving in 
Gabrielle*s mind a glad wonder that he and Louis were 
‘ brethren * now, that to him also the fate of Louis was 
‘a crushing sorrow,* and yet that this sorrow was a 
thing he would by no means forego. Evidently he too 
understood the ‘ open secret,’ that secret, so strange and 
yet so dear to those who love and mourn, that our 
deepest sorrows are at the same time our most precious 
treasures.^ 

It was well that she had strong consolation, for as 
the days went on she needed it. ‘ The angels ’ that at 
first had borne her messages of comfort, ‘went away 
from her into heaven.* Or, more truly, at first she 
followed those she loved into that heaven itself, and 
the door by which they entered seemed still to stand 
ajar. But afterwards ‘the door was shut,’ and she was 
left on the other side — alone. 

* This thought appears strongly in one of Calvin’s letters, from 
which the words given above are quoted. 

319 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

Yet not quite alone. That is what loving hearts 
need seldom be, in a world where there is so much 
need for love. Still, it happened to her as it does to 
many a woman ; the lot is a very common one. She 
saw her ‘ dearest ones depart without ’ her, while they 
left behind them others, dear indeed, and loved with 
faithful household love, but far less — oh, how far less ! — 
than those who ^were not.’ We all know when the sun 
has set, though the moon may be at the full, and there 
are many stars. 

Henceforward Gabrielle Berthelier was the faithful, 
loving guardian of two frail and failing lives. Claudine 
was stricken to the earth by the loss of her brother, 
and Marguerite’s stronger soul suffered even more 
deeply. A terrible added trial, to one of her tempera- 
ment, was the sense of weakness and helplessness. 
The broken limb knit again, but she was never able 
to do more than move slowly and feebly about the 
house. After various efforts, ending in misery to 
herself and discomfort to every one else, she was at 
last convinced that there was no more active work 
for her, that henceforward she must sit by the hearth, 
and spin. It is true that while she twirled her distaff 
she favoured Gabrielle with much good advice, with 
which often the young girl could have willingly dis- 
pensed. 

In those gloomy days the friendship of the De 
Caulaincourts was a great solace to Gabrielle. But, 
after a time, the father resumed those evangelistic 
excursions into Savoy which had so nearly cost him his 
life; whilst the son, entering upon the work to which 
he had vowed himself, became the messenger of Calvin 
320 


Bearing the Burden of the Years 

to the persecuted Churches in France, Belgium, anti 
Italy. 

Gabrielle had another friend who, once domiciled in 
Geneva, never left it again. It was natural that the 
cousin of Louis de Marsac should be an object of 
interest to her, if only because he had so much to tell 
her of those last days in Lyons. And since to this 
interest was added compassion for a great infirmity, it 
was not surprising that a strong bond should spring up 
between them. 

Gabrielle, it is true, had little time for the cultivation 
of friendship ; but she would not have been the child 
of Geneva she was if she had not made time, even by 
rising early and late taking rest, for attendance on the 
numerous religious services which were the very breath 
of the new Genevan life. It was at once a pleasure and 
a charity to bring M. Ambrose to these ; and the rather 
as Griilet, otherwise invaluable, failed to develop a taste 
for sermons. He was not particular, he said, about 
keeping the old Faith ; what was good enough for M. 
Ambrose was good enough for him, and he did not 
doubt he could make his salvation very well after 
Master Calvin’s fashion. Still, he did not see the need 
of such a fuss, and of working harder at prayers and 
preaching than one used to do at Mass and Confession. 
But, on the other hand, he was more than willing to 
repay the damoiselle’s kindnesses to his master by 
doing little services for her, such as fetching her 
provisions from the market. To this, however, Gabrielle 
soon objected, as she used to find in her basket on 
these occasions rare flowers and costly fruit which she 
certainly had not purchased. But declining the services 
321 X 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

of Grillet did not stop the arrival of these tributes ; 
he only brought them more openly to the house in 
the Rue Cornavin, ‘ with the most respectful homage of 
M. Ambrose de Marsac.’ These luxuries Gabrielle 
shared with the poor and sick ; to whom she was a 
welcome visitor, whenever she could snatch an hour 
from the pressing duties of home. 

Her part in the general life of the city was now so 
small, that she scarcely recognized the fact that Geneva 
had reached the very zenith of her glory. After the 
final defeat of the Libertines there was peace. The 
theocracy, with Calvin as prime minister, and interpreter 
of the will of the unseen Monarch, had triumphed : scarce 
a tongue was heard to move against it. Henceforward 
every citizen was bound to live as in the sight of God 
Himself. With moral rectitude, and piety almost 
unexampled in history, came a wonderful development 
of intellectual activity. Four and twenty printing 
presses poured the writings of Calvin and other 
Reformers in a continuous stream into every country 
of Europe ; and in return, every Catholic country sent 
into Geneva its fugitives and exiles for the Faith, whilst 
the Protestant communities, who did not need it as a 
refuge, prized it as a school, sending thither their sons 
for an excellent secular education, and a theological 
training which, if austere and narrow, was still as 
profound and lofty as the thought of the age could 
reach. 

Norbert de Caulaincourt, when he happened to be 
in Geneva, which was not often, or for long together, 
was glad enough, as he grew older, to frequent the 
school he had despised in his boyhood. But then, 
322 


Bearing the Burden of the Years 

there is such a difference between what we mu>t do 
and what we would like to do ! Moreover, the genial 
and enlightened Dr. Theodore Beza was now the 
Rector of the Academy, and there was that in his 
lectures which drew intelligent and enquiring youth 
around him. 

Norbert shot up very suddenly from boy to man. 
Until his seventeenth year even his physical development 
had been tardy, while his boyish heedlessness and 
recklessness were a care to his father, and a trial to his 
pastors and masters. But the crowded events of a few 
brief months — from that day in early spring when he 
heard of his father’s arrest, to the August morning 
when he stood in the square at Lyons and saw Louis 
de Marsac die — had ripened him suddenly into manhood. 
The boy’s restlessness was transformed into the man’s 
energy ; the boy’s headlong passion for adventure into 
the man’s resolute daring. Mind and body kept pace 
together. Ere those about him knew, or he himself 
took account of the change, it was a stalwart youth, 
with the down of manhood on his lip, who brought 
Master Calvin news of the Churches. But there was 
one thing in which, boy or man, he never changed 
at all. 

Usually, when at home — that is to say in Geneva — 
he saw little of Gabrielle. For a while he positively 
avoided her ; not strong enough to see her face, to 
touch her hand, knowing all the time that she 
belonged still to his dead friend. He told himself, 
sometimes, that he was willing it should be so ; but 
that did not help him. No whit the less did he thrill 
through and through with the pain of hopeless longing, 

323 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

and the agonizing sense of that which might have 
been. 

‘ It is not that I would wrong Louis in heaven,’ he 
said, ‘any more than I would have wronged him on 
earth. But still — I had better keep away, until I can 
think and act like a wise man, not like a fool.’ 

At length, however, impelled by the claims of 
gratitude and friendship, he broke his resolution. Once 
more it was springtide in Geneva, the fifth since that 
well-remembered season of the elder De Caulaincourt’s 
captivity. Norbert had just returned over the mountains 
from a very dangerous journey into Italy. He reported 
himself to Calvin ; and then, after visiting the Antoine 
Calvins, and finding that his father was absent, he went 
to see Sister Claud ine and Gabrielle Berthelier. 

The first thing he heard on entering was the sound 
of a lute. Sister Claudine sat in their usual living 
room, busy with her embroidery. Marguerite was spinning, 
and Gabrielle making a blouse for a poor child, whilst 
Ambrose de Marsac discoursed sweet music upon 
the richer and sweeter instrument for which he had 
discarded his mandoline. 

Norbert greeted them all, and was greeted in return 
with equal — indeed with greater warmth; for an 
unexplained something, perhaps it was the presence 
of Ambrose, had given him a kind of chill. They 
talked first of his mission to Italy, and the progress 
of the Gospel there ; but after some time spent in this 
way, Norbert plucked up courage to ask Gabrielle if 
she would come and breathe the air with him this fine 
afternoon ; he had something to say to her. 

Gabrielle acquiesced very readily. Was he not an 

324 


Bearing the Burden of the Years 

accredited messenger of the Church ? What he had 
to say no doubt referred to its concerns, or to the fate 
of some of its confessors ; no selfish interest could have 
part in it. And in truth it had not 

* Where would you like to go } ’ Norbert asked, as 
they passed out 

She answered promptly. ‘ To the New College. 
I hear it is quite finished now, and I want to 
see it.’ 

‘ So do I.' 

As they trod the familiar streets on their way to the 
Rue Verdaine, Norbert resumed, ‘ Gabrielle, I am in a 
strait, wherein I think none but you can help me. Have 
you a mind to do it ? ’ 

With an utter simplicity and absence of self- 
consciousness which made her mood a great contrast 
to his own, Gabrielle answered, ‘ Dear Norbert, I will 
do anything I can for you, as indeed I ought.’ 

‘You remember how generously the young Count 
of Lormayeur dealt with me when I was in his power, 
and expecting nothing but death ? ’ 

‘ Yes ; and the peril was for my sake. Norbert, I 
should be ungrateful indeed if I forgot’ 

‘Nay, Gabrielle, you should forget all, save the 
young count and his kindness. Now he is really 
Count of Lormayeur, for his father died a year ago. 
But he is still occupied about the duke’s affairs, who 
has sent him on some errand to Turin — and there, to 
my surprise, I chanced to meet him. He recognized 
me — and with any other I should have felt alarmed, 
but I knew well I might trust him, and need fear no 
betrayal. We had a long talk ; and he confided to me 

325 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

the great anxiety in which he is about the lady he loves^ 
and meant to espouse as soon as the duke will let him 
go home and attend to his own affairs. She used to 
live with an old kinsman, a certain Sieur de Mayne, 
in the wild district which belongs to Mont Blanc. But 
the old man being dead, she could not stay, and has 
had to take refuge with another kinsman, M. Claude 
de Senanclair.’ 

* M. de Senanclair ! But he lives within our 
Franchises, and besides, is a zealous Protestant, and 
a great friend of Master Calvin.’ 

‘ That is so ; and the very reason I want your help. 
There came with her an attached old waiting woman, 
like your Marguerite ; but, whether spent with the 
fatigues of the journey or from some other cause, she 
took ill immediately upon their coming, and is dead. 
Now this young lady is alone amongst strangers, and 
has written to the count a very mournful letter, saying 
she will pine away and die, and such other things as, 
I suppose, ladies say when they are sorrowful.’ 

‘ But M. de Senanclair is a good man ; surely he 
would be kind to her.’ 

‘As kind as he knows how, seeing he is a man,’ 
said Norbert, with a slight smile. ‘But she needs 
a woman — not a serving woman, of whom are plenty 
there, but one who understands — who knows the heart 
of a young maiden — and who can talk to her and 
comfort her.’ 

‘ Norbert, what is it you want me to do ? ’ 

‘ I want you to go to her, to speak to her heart, to 
be to her as a sister might’ 

It was on Gabrielle’s lips to say, ‘I think you are 
326 


Bearing the Burden of the Years 

asking a good deal ; * but she only said, ‘ And why should 
I do this work, Norbert ? ’ 

Norbert hesitated. He did not choose to say, 
‘ Because to him who loves her I owe my life ; ’ as that 
would seem to be setting up a claim for himself. At 
last he said, ‘Because Count Victor behaved so well 
to us.’ 

‘ But would M. de Senanclair be willing to receive 
me into his house ? ’ 

‘ Most willing. I went there yesterday, ere coming 
to the town. I saw him, and the damoiselle also. In 
truth, he is perplexed by his guest, and knows not how 
to order matters for her comfort, seeing there is no 
lady in his household. He bade me say that any 
gentlewoman of my friends would be very welcome at 
Senanclair.’ 

Gabrielle thought rapidly. She would be glad, 
very glad, to do this thing f r Norbert. There was 
always in the depths of her heart an unaclmowledged 
feeling that she had not been grateful enough for all 
he had done for her. Moreover, during his absences 
from Geneva, she had certainly missed him. 

‘If it would please you, Norbert,’ she said. 

‘ It would please me very much,’ he answered 
frankly. ‘ Still, you must not do it if it troubles you. 
Perhaps, indeed, you cannot leave your aunt and 
Marguerite.’ 

‘That might be managed. Bdnoite is very useful 
now ; and I have a friend who might come for a little 
while. Besides, there are the Calvins, next door. They 
would do all they could.’ 

‘ Ambrose de Marsac also seems to be very 

.^27 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

attentive/ said Norbert, with just a faint suspicion of 
displeasure in his tone. He would have been com- 
forted, had he known that he was furnishing Gabrielle 
with a strong reason for a temporary absence from the 
town. 

‘ Now you have come, Norbert,’ she answered, rather 
hurriedly, * you may perchance be able to find him some 
occupation, in which, without hindrance from his blind- 
ness, he may serve God and man. As it is, he has 
nothing to do but to go to the Preaching or the Cercle, 
to visit his friends, and to play upon that lute of his, 

which sometimes, when one chances to be busy 

But at best ’tis a sad life, and we who have the gift of 
sight, which he is denied, should not grudge our efforts 
to cheer and console him.’ 

‘ True/ thought Norbert ; ‘ but he seems to want a 
good deal of consolation, especially from Gabrielle.’ 
He said aloud, ‘ Then, Gabrielle, I may hope you will 
go to Senanclair? With all my heart I thank you. 
I was bound to serve Count Victor in all ways I 
could ; and now he will know I am not ungrateful. 
But here we are at the college. Ah, it is quite 
finished ! A noble work I God bless it, and our 
Geneva I ’ 

They stood still, looking with great admiration at 
the new building, in their eyes beautiful and glorious, 
though perhaps in ours only commonplace and gloomy. 
The space around, with its great trees, was silent and 
deserted, save for one dark, solitary figure, also standing 
motionless, and as if absorbed in thought. There was 
no mistaking that figure. Norbert and Gabrielle drew 
near with reverence, and saluted Master John Calvin. 

328 


Bearing the Burden of the Years 

He looked old and frail ; his dark hair and beard were 
whitening fast, and he leaned heavily on his staff. He 
had scarce seen more than fifty years ; but into those 
years what toil of mind and body, what anxieties and 
sufferings had been crowded ! If time be indeed the 
life of the soul, they might well have counted for 
centuries. 

He returned the salutation with a word of blessing ; 
after which he favoured them with a very scrutinizing 
look from his keen and piercing black eyes. 

‘ I had rather see her walking with Ambrose de 
Marsac/ was his thought. * A young messenger of the 
Churches should not be entangling himself in the affairs 
of this life.’ 

John Calvin was not too entirely absorbed in the 
care of all the Churches to feel a personal interest in 
the life-story of every Genevan. It was scarcely in 
accordance with the ideas of the time that a young and 
beautiful maiden should live so long unwedded, and 
with no better guardianship than that of two old 
women. And close at hand was a good man and true, 
an earnest professor of the Reformed Faith, only 
longing to undertake that guardianship. True, there 
was one drawback : a grievous physical infirmity. But 
on the other hand were ample means, noble birth, and 
many graces of mind and person. Moreover, Gabrielle 
was known to be zealous of good works, and here was 
a good work ready to her hand. She might make a 
darkened life happy and useful. 

Hints of the post of usefulness thus awaiting her 
occupation, had come from other quarters to the ears 
of Gabrielle herself ; nor could she misunderstand, though 

329 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

she tried hard to do so, the tone and bearing of Ambrose 
de Marsac. These things made her the more willing 
to grant the request of Norbert de Caulaincourt, and 
go to Senanclair. 


330 


CHAPTER XXX 


‘GO IN PEACE* 


I would not change my buried love, 

For any heart of living mould.’ 

T. Campbell. 

I T was not merely in a ‘ bower ’ by courtesy, as ladies’ 
apartments were styled in those days, but in the 
real garden bower of a fair pleasaunce, that two 
maidens sat together, their fingers busy with the em- 
broidery in which both were skilful, and their tongues 
by no means idle. Both were beautiful ; both were 
daughters of the South, young, but in the full bloom 
of womanhood, as such was accounted then, for each 
had passed her twentieth year. Yet they were very 
different. The Lady Arietta de Mayne was small and 
slight ; a dark beauty of the sparkling, scintillating type, 
full of life to the finger-tips. She was full of pride too, 
but it was a generous pride, with no taint of meanness. 
Passion slumbered in her dark eyes ; they could flash 
with wrath and hate as well as kindle with animation, 
but they could soften, too, very easily, under the spell 
of gentler and tenderer moods. 

Gabrielle Berthelier quite equalled her companion 

331 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

in beauty and regularity of feature, though she lacked 
the vivacity, the brightness, the verve which lent her a 
special charm. Bat in her face there was something 
far better, the sweet calm of one who has loved and 
suffered, and left behind, not the love but the suffering, 
over-lived yet unforgotten. 

The two were good friends, though just now the 
'sweet bells’ were jangling a little. 

‘ I cannot think,’ said the Lady Arietta, * why you 
should refuse and deny your proper name, style, and 
title. It is like denying “ Cream and Baptism,” 
which, indeed, you Genevans do also after a fashion. 
And still, in spite of all, you are no less the Lady 
Olive de Castelar.’ 

‘ Pardon me, lady, I am nothing of the kind.’ 

‘Pardon me, lady,’ mimicked Arietta, making what 
the French call a moue. ‘No, I will not pardon this 
misplaced ceremony. Olive de Castelar is more than 
the equal in rank of Arietta de Mayne, and much her 
superior in all else, very notably in learning. You argue 
like a priest — nay, for God knows they often argue ill 
enough — like a bishop, shall I say ? And you know all 
the Holy Scriptures by heart, I verily believe.’ 

‘ Indeed, no,’ said Gabrielle, smiling. ‘ But if I did, 
it would not make me Lady of Castelar, seeing I have 
renounced my inheritance, and all claims attaching 
thereto. And that in favour of a gentleman who holds 
you in the highest esteem.’ 

Two very pretty and becoming roses appeared on 
the cheeks of Arietta, hitherto a trifle pale. 

‘ Do you know,’ she said, ‘ that once I hated bitterly 
the very sound of your name ? ’ 

332 


‘ Go in Peace ’ 

* How could I know it, when I did not know of your 
existence? * 

*How could you, indeed? And how could /know 
you would do all you could for — for that gentleman you 
spoke of, by so generously renouncing your rights ? 
Though whether any good will come of it, is more than 
I can say. The lawyers are like snails — or rather, like 
crabs that walk backward. And His Grace of Savoy, 
though he wishes well to that person, is still afraid — 
being scarcely steady in his own seat yet — to come to 
extremities with Santona, who keeps a tight grip on the 
lands. Well, then, let them go. Lands and gold are 
not the best things, after all. True love is more and 
better. What says thy Book, Gabrielle? “Many 
waters cannot quench love, neither can fire burn 
it.” ’ 

‘ My Book says many good things. Arietta.’ 

‘It does, and I love it better every day. When 1 
go home, I mean to get the priests to let me read it. 
Home ! ’ she repeated, with a sigh. ‘ Where is “ home,” 
I wonder ? Not the old Tower — never, never any more. 
Where, then ? ’ 

‘ Where those are whom one loves best,’ said 
Gabrielle. ‘ That is home.’ 

‘You, at least, have chosen yours, and with full 
purpose,’ Arietta returned. * In your beloved 
Geneva.’ 

‘No,’ answered Gabrielle, quietly. ‘Geneva is not 
my home.’ 

As she spoke, some one came towards them, guided 
to their retreat by a little foot-page. It was a tall, 
martial figure, a soldier every inch, though dressed now 
333 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

in peaceful fashion, not belied by the costly sword at 
his side, which was part of a gentleman’s ordinary 
dress. He removed his plumed cap from a well-bronzed 
forehead, and made respectful obeisance to both the 
ladies. 

Whilst Gabrielle calmly wondered who it was. 
Arietta’s cheek paled and flushed, flushed and paled 
again. She said only one word — ‘ Victor! ’ — but she knew 
in that moment what ‘ Home’ meant for her. Gabrielle 
knew also; and murmuring some slight excuse, she 
withdrew, leaving the lovers to themselves, or rather to 
each other. 

*I hope all will go smoothly with them now,’ she 
thought. * They deserve it. Norbert says they have 
been so faithful to each other all these years.’ 

Then, all unbidden, there rushed over her the con- 
trast between their lot and hers. They were two ; she 
was one. Oh, the desolateness of being one, one only, in 
this great world ‘ so full of other people ! ’ But was 
she indeed one only ? Presently there came to her out 
of the past a face, a look, a smile. That face was no 
new visitant, it was with her so often that it had become 
a part of her very life. It was with her usually to help, 
to comfort, to sustain — a spiritual companionship over 
which, in the silence of her inner life, she rejoiced and 
was glad. Her grief had seemed to be ‘changed to 
something else,* to that dear remembrance which is 
not grief, nor joy, but sweeter than the one, and calmer 
than the other. But now suddenly, like a flood, the 
agony came back. She was used to think herself very 
old, as old as love or sorrow could make her ; but that 
sight of the two young lovers had sent somehow, 
334 



SHE ONLY SAID ONE WORD— ‘ VICTOR ! 



‘ Go in Peace * 


through heart and brain, a thrill of conscious youth. 
In truth, the crown of life had come to her too soon, 
before her childhood was well over. She was like one 
who rises at daybreak, and gets through the day’s work 
while others are asleep, only by-and-by to sink down 
exhausted, thinking night must be come, when the town 
clock is but striking noon. So much of the day had to be 
lived through yet ! Others, for the day’s work had the 
day’s food, deep home affections, household joys, and 
cares which are sometimes dearer to us than joys. She 
had these too — oh yes ! her thoughts turned tenderly 
to the two dear ones at home, all the dearer for their 
helplessness. Yet how small a part of her life her cares 
for these could fill ! Beneath the surface life of daily 
occupation, of kindly services, ached the great empty 
human heart, crying out for its human love, its human 
joy. 

But, could she forget that all the time she had 
something, which she would not barter for the living 
love of a hundred lords of Lormayeur? She took from 
its place next her heart the little ivory tablet, scorched 
on one side, where a spark had struck it as it was flung 
to Norbert over burning faggots. She pressed to her 
lips, as one who seals a solemn vow, that slightest and 
most trivial of things seen, which yet, being the sign and 
sacrament of things not seen, but eternal, partook of 
their glory and preciousness. 

She had that, and was it not enough ? And yet — and 
yet — the human heart within her sent up its moan. 

Arietta came in softly, and laid her hand on her 
shoulder. Her eyes were misty, and her voice was 
very gentle. 


335 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

‘ Wish me joy, dear Gabrielle,* she said. ‘All is well, 
at last. The duke has promised to do justice. Victor 
is to have the lands of Lormayeur. For which, more- 
over, we thank you.’ 

‘No, indeed,* returned Gabrielle, warmly. ‘Why 
thank me for giving away what I could by no means 
keep * 

‘You could have kept them, easily enough. You 
had only to turn Catholic.* 

‘ Only ? But I think that even this is not the best 
you have to tell me, Arietta ? ’ 

‘ No,’ said Arietta, blushing and hesitating. * Our 
lord the duke is good enough to say, that since I have 
no living relative other than M. de Senanclair, and he, 
of course, is out of the question on account of the 
Religion — he will send for me to Chambery, where her 
grace the duchess will receive me, and do for me all 
that is right and fitting, as for a betrothed maiden who 
was a ward and kinswoman of their own.’ 

‘That is very kind of the duke and duchess.’ 

‘But only think,’ pursued Arietta, ‘what good 
service and contentment he must have given to the 
duke, to win such favour at his hands, and to me, too, 
for his sake.’ 

Gabrielle was quite content that Arietta should 
sound the praises of Count Victor, but she could not 
hear her next words without protest, for they were a 
proposal, warmly and lovingly urged, that she should 
cast in her lot with them, come and live with 
them — ‘ when we are settled, you know ’ — and be 
always, to her and to Victor as a dear and honoured 
sister. 


336 


‘ Go in Peace ’ 


‘But you forget the Religion,’ interposed Gabrielle. 

‘ I am sure you do not want to make me a martyr.’ 

‘ Oh, we could arrange all that ! Trust Victor to 
keep the priests in their own place.’ 

‘ That is not so easily done,’ said Gabrielle. 

But Arietta thought she showed signs of yielding, 
so she went on piling up — not the agony, but — the 
allurements of a life in Savoy, crowning the pyramid 
with a splendid marriage to a great count or baron, 
perhaps even a duke. 

Gabrielle smiled, and glanced unawares at the little 
tablet, still in her hand. Arietta’s eyes followed 
hers. 

‘ Ah, your poor little tablet ! ’ she said. ‘ It has 
got burned or something. Never mind, I will give you 
a better.’ 

She was one of those people who, whenever they 
feel particularly happy, always want to give something 
to some one. 

But Gabrielle’s fingers closed over her treasure. 
There was a look in her face Arietta had never seen 
before. 

‘ You have Count Victor de Lormayeur, and I have 
thisl she said. 

Over Arietta’s happy face there came a shade of 
awe, with just the faintest touch of pique, that in all 
their intimate intercourse Gabrielle had never told 
her. 

‘ Ah ! ’ she said. ‘ A love- token ? I see. I did not 
know.’ 

‘You could not know,’ Gabrielle said gently. ‘All 
is ended, for me, that can end. Yet end there is none ; 

337 Y 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

for he is with God, and has taken our love with him in 
there, where nothing can fade or die. But I am glad 
for you, dear Arietta, and with all my heart I wish 
you joy.* 

Here, in no unkindly mood, we may see the figures 
of Victor de Lormayeur and Arietta de Mayne fade 
away from our view. Their place was with the many 
whose names are writ in water, not with the few who 
leave enduring footprints on the sands of time. Still 
Victor de Lormayeur did leave, in his native valleys, a 
remembrance that lingered long of a Count of Lormayeur 
who was just, kind, and charitable, the friend of the 
poor. Even ^They of Geneva’ knew there was one 
estate in Savoy into which they might venture without 
fear of the dungeon and the stake. When some of his 
tenants embraced Protestantism, they were allowed to 
sell their lands, take their movable possessions with 
them, and go whither they would. It was rumoured 
that the Lady of Lormayeur had once gone so far as to 
turn a priest out of doors for objecting in strong terms 
to these proceedings of her lord’s. 

‘But then,’ said one who knew, ‘my lady had 
ever a sharp tongue. She was mightily learned 
moreover. ’Tis said she used to read the Holy 
Scriptures in private with the count, and puzzle the 
priests and monks with hard questions out of them. 
But what would you have? The count and countess 
were free of hand, and kept a good table, as none 
knew better than those same priests and monks. From 
their gates no poor man was ever sent empty away. 
And we know that charity covereth a multitude of 
sins.’ 


338 


* Go in Peace * 


At least, to give that ill-used text for once its true 
meaning, our charity shall cover the sins, whatever they 
may have been, of the Lord and Lady of Lormayeur, as 
we take a friendly leave of them, with a cordial, ‘Go 
in peace.* 


339 


CHAPTER XXXI 

THE PASSING OF CALVIN 


‘That God shall take thee to His heart, 

Unto His heart, be sure ! and here on earth 
Shall splendour sit upon thy name for ever.* 

R. Browning^ 

M ore years yet have passed away, and have brought 
at last, for Geneva, a year of sorrow and of 
darkness. That curse of Old Europe, the plague, 
was devastating Switzerland, and Geneva had her full 
share of the awful visitation. Yet her citizens did not 
think that the heaviest sorrow God had sent them. 
For in their midst one life was fading slowly, for 
which thousands amongst them would have very 
willingly given their own. John Calvin lay on his 
death-bed. 

Better would it have been — incomparably better ! — 
for his fame in after ages, if he had died, like Louis de 
Marsac, on the burning pile. It was no fault of his 
that he did not. — No fault, but a virtue ; a grand, calm 
faithfulness to duty, and to God’s appointment for him. 
He knew that the general must not volunteer for the 
forlorn hope. That would be a sublime selfishness, 

340 


The Passing of Calvin 

perhaps — but selfishness still And to the tremendous 
interests committed to him it would have meant 
irretHevable disaster. 

Nevertheless, God did not deny His servant the 
opportunity of witnessing for Him in suffering. Long 
months of pain and weakness were appointed him, 
during which his faith and patience never failed. No 
murmur passed his lips, though sometimes he was heard 
to breathe the words that showed a longing for release, 
‘ How long, O Lord ? ’ 

There is something, not pathetic only but ennobling, 
in the loving watch kept thus by a nation or community 
around the death-bed of a great and honoured son. A 
common love and sorrow bind all together ; strife and 
conflict are suspended, the passions and controversies of 
the past grow dim and disappear. Then the things not 
seen, which are eternal, rise before us in their solemn 
majesty ; and the thoughts of all are turned, not to the 
incidents and vicissitudes of the career that is closing, 
but to the destiny of the great soul going forth alone to 
meet the Infinite. The time has not come to ask — 
What has this man done what is the result and out- 
come of his work in the world ? We ask, instead, Is 
the Rock of Ages beneath those solitary spirit feet, as 
they step out into that darkness where none of us as 
yet has trod, but where each one of us must tread 
one day ? 

None could doubt that the feet of John Calvin were 
fixed upon that Rock. All the strength of his strong 
soul rested upon his God ; and therefore, up to the last, 
his heart was at ‘leisure from itself’ to pursue calmly 
the work of his life — to write, to teach, to counsel, to 

341 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

command — as long as physical strength remained to him 
to hold a pen or to utter a word. 

But events affect us, not in proportion to their 
importance, but to their nearness, which, nevertheless, 
is really their importance for us. It was not long after 
Calvin’s last sermon, which was preached in St. Peter’s, 
on February 6, 1562, that, first Marguerite and then 
Claudine, sickened of the plague. Neither showed the 
more violent symptoms of the terrible malady ; in 
Marguerite’s case there was little delirium, in Claudine’s 
none at all. Yet Gabrielle, knowing the weakness of 
both, looked upon both from the first as doomed. With 
the good help of Bdnoite, now a very capable servant, 
she set herself resolutely to the task of tending them, 
in the dreary isolation the circumstances demanded. 
She gave due information to the dizenier of the 
quarter, placed upon the door the sign required by 
the law, and made all the other necessary arrange- 
ments. The dealer in fruit withdrew his stores to 
another place, so the house was left to her entirely. 
She knew that their friend and pastor. Master Poupin 
(who seemed now to have no fear whatever of the 
malady), would not abandon them, and she calculated 
on the professional services of the Apothecary Aubert ; 
but she would by no means allow their kind neighbours 
next door to render any help, on account of the danger 
of infection. 

The morning after the sickness declared itself 
B^ncite heard a knocking at the street door, and put 
her head out of an upper window to answer. An 
animated colloquy followed, and more than ten minutes 
elapsed before the young servant stole to the door of 

342 


The Passing of Calvin 

Marguerite’s room, where Gabrielle was, and beckoned 
her out. 

‘Never was there such a gentleman,’ she said, 
evidently much excited. ‘My damoiselle, I have had 
a world of trouble with him. But determined I was 
that he should not disturb you, whatever he chose to 
say. Think of any one in his senses wanting us to let 
him into the house, to abide downstairs in the empty 
rooms ! I told him it was clean against the law, and 
we might be fined, and made to ask pardon on our 
knees of God and the city ; but I might as well have 
spoken to the fish in the lake.’ 

‘ But, Bdnoite — who — who was it ? ’ 

‘Who should it be, my damoiselle, but the blind 
gentleman himself, and his servant too? They faced 
me down, both of them together, that the servant would 
help us in all manner of ways, and that we would need 
a man’s strength, ere all was over. But I stuck to my 
text, for I knew what you would say, damoiselle, and 
that it would be haider for you to say it than for me. 
I said we were good Christians, and law-abiding, 
whatever Frenchmen might think of the matter. Then 
they argued, it was no breaking of the law on our side, if 
we warned them fairly ; nor on theirs, if they did not 
go forth again. But I would hear no more ; I said I 
had my business to attend to, and must go.’ 

‘You did right, Benoite — quite right. Only, it was 
such a kind thought — though an utter madness ! I would 
you had told me, and I would have spoken to him and 
thanked him.’ 

‘ Thanked him ? Surely, damoiselle, you know that 
he worships ’ 


343 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

* Oh, B^notte, I can’t stay for more words. Go you 
to Marguerite now, for I must attend to my aunt. I 
think she too is very ill, God help us ! ’ 

‘And He will, my damoiselle. One thing more I 
must tell you. To pacify that poor gentleman in his 
sore distress, I promised to let down every day a basket, 
which they will fill with such things as may help or 
solace you.* 

After that, over Gabrielle the shadow deepened 
slowly and surely. The long days passed, as days 
pass everywhere, with watchers by the sick and dying. 
They were sad days, yet too full of ‘ thronging duties ’ 
to be altogether dreary : mind and body were too busy 
for much grieving, and when afterwards Gabrielle looked 
back upon the time, it seemed more like a long, troubled 
dream than one of actual suffering. 

Sister Claudine was the first to go, and with her 
God’s messenger dealt very tenderly. There was little 
pain, and no fear. The weak, gentle spirit had long 
been treading the pathway of life as one walks in a 
dense fog, where old landmarks are obliterated, and all 
is doubt and dimness. Which was right, the Old Faith 
or the New ? For years she clung to the Old, but of 
late her grasp on it had loosened, and her feeble, 
trembling feet scarce knew where to go. Only always, 
through the fog, a light had been shining faintly. It 
was there from the first, and to the last she never 
ceased to see it. Nay, at the last it burned brighter 
than it had ever done; the mists around it cleared, 
vanished, and she saw it, and rejoiced. For it came from 
the face of Him who said, ‘Come unto Me, all ye that 
are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest’ 

344 


The Passing of Calvin 

With old Marguerite’s vigorous, untrained mind and 
strong energetic character all was different. No fogs 
of any kind troubled her, no uncertainties beset her. 
Before her the Eternal Future lay clear and plain, 
mapped out like the streets of Geneva, only, unlike 
them, in uncompromising squares of blackest black 
and whitest white. One went forth into that world 
elect, regenerate, sanctified — or reprobate, impenitent, 
‘dead in trespasses and sins.’ And as for her, she 
belonged to the Regenerate ; having received the Truth 
in the love of it many years ago from the lips of 
Master Calvin himself. But no ‘system’ ever yet 
devised can save strong souls from the conflict which 
is their birthright, and their necessary training. In 
the hours of sickness, weariness, and pain. Marguerite 
began to doubt her ‘ calling and election,’ and to think 
that all these years she had been self-deceived, or a 
hypocrite. Then was Gabrielle strong to sustain and 
comfort, and to breathe words of heavenly hope and 
trust into the failing ear. For some hours before the 
end old Marguerite was unconscious, but peace was in 
the worn, aged face ; and it was with a thankful though 
sorrowing heart that Gabrielle closed the eyes of her 
faitliful servant and friend. 

Then she sat solitary in the silent house. She was 
very tired, so tired that she would gladly have welcomed 
God’s messenger Death, if he had come for her also. 
But she did not grieve much — at least not consciously. 
Rather she felt as one whose day’s work is done, and 
who is well content to have it so. She had come to the 
last page of the story, and was ready now to shut the 
book and to go to sleep. But we have often to learn, 
345 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

even on earth, that what we think endings are really 
fresh beginnings. And, after all, she was only six and 
twenty. 

One day, just when the danger of infection was 
considered quite over, B^noite came to her with an 
earnest petition. ‘Grandmother is not so strong as 
she used to be,’ said the girl. ‘ And there are all those 
men-folk next door to be done for, and Mistress Calvin 
ever in the Rue des Chanoines, so taken up with tending 
Master Calvin in his sickness that she scarcely knows 
whether there is meat in the house to eat, or a billet of 
wood to cook it with. I think, damoiselle, that if you 
would give me good leave for an hour or two, I might 
help her a little.* 

‘You could help her a great deal, Benotte,* said 
Gabrielle, rousing herself. ‘ And perhaps I can help 
also. There is nought to do that need keep us here.* 

Gabrielle soon found her hands full, and recognized 
with thankfulness that God had sent her, in her loneliness, 
a very definite work to do, and one well worth the doing. 
For though the dying Reformer was surrounded with 
attached and faithful friends — stern, strong men, who to 
him were tender as women — there would have been, but 
for his brother’s wife, no woman’s hand to supply that 
which has been in all ages woman’s special gift and 
ministry. And Gabrielle, by attending for the time to 
the wants of Mistress Calvin’s large household, was 
setting her free for this ministry, thus giving much more 
than a cup of cold water to a prophet in the name of a 
prophet. 

One forenoon. Mistress Calvin came back early from 
the Rue des Chanoines, and told Gabrielle she would 
346 


The Passing of Calvin 

stay and prepare the dinner, ‘ For,’ she added, 'you must 
go at once to my brother. He has asked for you — to 
say farewell.’ 

There was nothing strange in this. Gabrielle’s 
sorrows, her consistent Christian character, and her 
helpfulness in all good works, had long since won for 
her the esteem of the great Reformer, to whom also she 
was dear for the sake of his young favourite, Louis de 
Marsac. Gabrielle Berthelier and Ambrose de Marsac 
were the joint heirs of his love for Louis ; and he always 
thought of the two together. 

Gabrielle threw on her hood and cloak, and went 
with rapid steps to the Rue des Chanoines. Calvin’s 
young secretary, Charles de Joinvilliers, opened the 
door for her, and led her in silence to the chamber of 
sickness, soon to be the chamber of death. 

John Calvin lay, or rather reclined, upon the pillows 
that supported him. He was very weak, and breathed 
with evident difficulty. His face, always pale, was 
deathlike now, the cheeks sunken, the lips a greyish 
white. Only the great luminous eyes burned with their 
wonted fire ; and as he bent them on the sorrowful face 
of Gabrielle, she felt her whole being subdued and 
dominated by his. Never was he more a king than 
w hen he lay there frail and faint, in the very shadow of 
the grave. 

She sank on her knees beside him, and in a broken 
voice asked for his blessing, as for a father’s. 

Calvin raised, with effort, his thin transparent hand, 
signing to his secretary to leave them alone. 

Then he said — his voice was low and weak and 
often interrupted — 'Rise, my daughter. I know thy 
347 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

sorrows. I would speak with thee, ere I speak for 
thee to God.’ 

She obeyed. He motioned her to take the seat 
Joinvilliers had placed for her, following her with those 
eyes that seemed to read the very heart. ‘ Here,’ he 
said, ‘“have we no continuing city.’” 

Did she not know it already ? She bowed her head 
in silence. 

‘ “ But we seek one to come.” And while we seek it 
let us be found doing the will of God, which liveth and 
abideth for ever.’ 

‘ My father,’ said Gabrielle softly, ‘ I fain would 
do it.’ 

‘ My daughter, I know it. And therefore, partly, I 
have sent for thee.’ 

Gabrielle’s heart beat more quickly at the words. 
Could it be that he had some special work of faith or 
love to commend to her, now he knew she was left 
alone, without home ties or home claims ? How gladly 
she would do it ! Such a mission from such lips would 
be as new life throbbing through her veins. She 
answered in low, pleading tones. ‘ Father, tell me His 
will for me, that I may do it.’ 

‘ Each of us has to 6nd it for himself.’ 

‘ But you, sir, you know so much ’ 

‘ Perhaps I do, now. Standing on the hill-top we 
see not only the land we go to, but the land we leave. 
If I be not mistaken, I think I see a work which only 
you can do.’ 

^OnlylV 

‘ Yes. One true, noble heart which only you can 
help and comfort.’ 


348 


The Passing of Calvin 

Gabrielle*s own heart dropped down with a sudden 
shock. She waited, trembling, for the rest. 

It came. ‘ There is one darkened life of which you 
can be the light. Ambrose de Marsac desires you for 
his wife.* 

Gabrielle’s face grew almost as white as that upon 
the pillow. She did not speak, but rose to her feet, 
stood for a moment in silence, then sank down on her 
knees again. 

The hand whose touch was a consecration rested 
gently on her head. * A good man’s love is no gift to 
be lightly put away,’ said John Calvin. 

* But — if — I — cannot — ’ Gabrielle said slowly. 

*We can always do the will of God.’ 

* Not this thing — oh, not this ! My father, you 
know all.* 

‘ Yes ; I know.’ There was a long pause, during 
which Gabrielle’s heart made passionate outcry, though 
her lips were silent. Then he said, and his tones had 
in them a strange tenderness, ‘ My daughter, the best 
and noblest woman I ever knew had laid in the grave 
the husband of her youth. She sorrowed ; yet at the 
call of duty she turned back to life, and took up its 
burdens again — to be for nine years the help-meet and 
comforter of one — most unworthy — whose days were full 
of pain and peril.’ Then, for a naoment, Gabrielle’s 
presence seemed forgotten, as the earnest eyes turned 
heavenward, and the pale lips murmured, ‘ Them also 
that sleep in Jesus.” ’ 

Gabrielle was moved to the very depths. That the 
most reticent of men should have broken down, for her 
sake, his habitual reserve, and spoken to her of his lost 
349 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

Idelette, drew her to him with a force she could not resist. 
Surely now she could refuse him nothing. Now ? At 
what time could a faithful daughter of Geneva have 
refused the urgent personal request of Master John 
Calvin Surely one who lived so near to God must 
know always what was best — what was right — for every 
one. A fateful word was quivering on her lips when, 
in the adjoining room, the well-known voice of Dr. 
Theodore Beza was heard speaking to the secretary. 
‘Important news’ — ‘ If Master Calvin is able’ — ‘see 
him at once ’ — so the words came to her brokenly. 

They came also to the ears which, until death should 
seal them, must be ever open to the cares of all the 
Churches. 

‘ Remember,’ he said to Gabrielle, ‘ I do not 
enjoin, I only request. Consider my words, and the 
Lord give thee understanding in all things.’ 

Then followed the solemn words of blessing, not the 
blessing of the Old Covenant but of the New — Grace, 
Love, Communion. Then, as Beza and the secretary 
entered, Gabrielle kis.sed the wasted hand, took her last 
reverent look at the face of the man who had swayed 
her life, and the lives of all she loved, and passed out in 
silence. 

She went back to the Rue Cornavin with a heart 
like lead. She had said farewell to him w'ho was to her, 
as to every true Genevan, truly ‘the anointed of the 
Lord, the breath of their nostrils ; ’ yet her chief thought 
was not that Master Calvin was dying, but that Master 
Calvin had asked of her something which it would break 
her heart to grant. Yet the possibility of refusing was 
not for a moment to be contemplated — did not even 

350 


The Passing of Calvin 

enter into her thoughts. Should Master Calvin die with 
a wish unfulfilled — and through her ? 

She returned that night to her solitary home, leaving 
Benoite with the Calvins. 

The whole bent of her nature was towards self- 
sacrifice, and all her training had strengthened and 
developed it. She was one of those people who are 
apt to think the most repugnant course must needs 
be the right one. That, against this thing she was 
asked to do her whole soul was one outcry of 
passionate pain, was no reason why she should not 
do it, rather a reason why she should. If she had 
learned anything in the austere school of Genevan 
thought, it was the lesson of self-abnegation. She 
had not rebelled against the destiny that sent her as 
a victim to Savoy ; she had bowed in meek submission 
to the martyrdom of Louis — why not bow to thiSy which 
seemed the lot marked out for him ? M. Ambrose de 
Marsac was indeed what Master Calvin had called him, 
a good man and true, and she had not to learn now that 
he loved her. It had long been a haunting care to her, 
a perplexity she knew she must one day deal with, 
though, while she possibly could, she kept it in the 
background of her thoughts. Now it had come to the 
front ; it stood right across her path. There was but 
one thing to do with it. She would ask the grace of 
God that she might do that thing well and rightly. 
And for the rest, what did it matter ? Life was short, 
and would be soon over. 

In the old home, where that night she fought her 
battle out alone, all was still, very silent. Sometimes a 
board creaked, or a mouse stirred behind the wainscot 

351 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

That was all. Gabrielle had no thought of fear, although 
the supernatural world was nearer to her than to us, 
and— 


‘Voices and visions from the sphere of those 
That have to die no more,’ 

would have been far more easily credible. Why should 
she fear, when all she knew in that world beyond the 
grave were the beloved and the loving ? If her will 
could have summoned them to her side, she would have 
welcomed their presence, and rejoiced in it with 
exceeding joy. 

But the only presence that came to her in the 
watches of the night was the remembered face of the 
venerated teacher, with the seal of death upon it, which 
yet could not hide that look of thought and care, 
even of tenderness, for her. His words sounded in her 
ears, ‘ I do not enjoin, I only request* In that they 
were no command, they came to her with a strength 
more irresistible than the most imperative of commands. 

Why then these long hours of conflict ? She told 
herself it was not conflict at all ; where duty was plain, 
conflict could not enter. Yet, for all that, in that torn 
heart of hers there was an agonizing struggle, and a sore 
wrestling with the Spirit until the breaking of the day. 

In the darkness just before that breaking of the day, 
a cry came up to her from the silent street. It was 
nothing more than the old familiar cry, telling of 
household tasks, ‘ La four chauffe! Yet, in an instant, 
it brought her back to that winter morning long ago, 
when she came forth trembling, a timid child, bent upon 
a formidable and unaccustomed errand. Two brave 

352 


The Passing of Calvin 

young servitors stepped out of the darkness, as if by 
magic, to contend for the joy of helping her then — ah, 
where were they now? With the familiar image of 
Louis, so cherished through long years, there came to 
her also, as of necessity, the thought of Norbert. The 
two were bound together, therefore both were bound to 
her as none else could be. Perhaps even there rested 
on Norbert a little of the sacredness of him whose last 
earthly sorrow he had comforted, whose last earthly 
wish he had fulfilled. 

Then a new thought came to her, suddenly, as if not 
from within, but from without, perhaps from Above. 
* If I do this thing, shall I indeed be true — true to 
Ambrose de Marsac, and true to myself?’ It was a 
strange thought to come to a woman of the sixteenth 
century, trained as Gabrielle had been to unquestioning 
submission. On the other hand, it was the special 
training of the woman of Geneva — the woman of the 
New Religion — which caused her to put ‘truth in the 
inward parts ’ before everything else. That training did 
something more. It gave a tremendous impetus to the 
development of individuality. It took her out of all 
shelter of delegated responsibility, and set her, a solitary 
human soul, burdened with the inalienable right and 
the awful duty of ‘ private judgment,’ before the bar of 
conscience and of God. Calvin’s teaching would not 
have been wholly successful for her, if to Calvin 
himself she could submit the issues of her life, as to 
one who might answer for her there. 

She had no thought of sleep. That short May night 
seemed to her a lifetime ; and yet she was surprised 
when ihe morning sun shone into her uncurtained 
353 Z 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

window. In these transports of the soul, time is not 
long or short ; it is non-existent. 

At an hour in Genevan estimation by no means 
early, she heard B^noite knocking at the street door, 
and went down to admit her. She saw at once that the 
girl had been weeping, and only one possible cause for 
tears occurring to her mind, asked anxiously, ‘ Is he 
gone ? ’ 

* Master Calvin ? On the contrary, my damoiselle, 
Mistress Calvin has just come in, and says he had a 

good night. But oh, there is sad news ! Sad — sad ’ 

‘What news? ’ asked Gabrielle, with the composure 
of one who has learned to look for sorrow. In those 
days of blood and fire, the friends of the New Faith had 
acquired through much suffering the grace of not being 
‘ soon disturbed or shaken in mind.’ 

‘ A Grey-foot told it, who came late, after lights were 
out last night. Oh, damoiselle, the best and bravest of 
them all ! I only hope they will have sense to keep it 
from Master Calvin, who loves him as a son. But he 
hears everything — worse luck ! ’ 

‘ But who is it ? Dr. Beza ? M. Viret ? No ; for they 
are here ’ 

‘ Who but Master Norbert, the “ friend of the 
martyrs/’ as they call him ? Every one’s friend he 
was, the noble, grand, young gentleman, just like a 
prince ! God help us all, and his father above all ! 
Sure, it will break his heart.’ B^noite broke down 
again, and stood upon the doorstep weeping bitterly. 

Gabrielle trembled from head to foot. ‘ Has he 
been — martyred f' she asked at last, and the words 
came out with difficulty. 


354 


The Passing of Calvin 

* Well — no/ B^noite answered, when she could speak. 
* If ’tis comfort to know he died in his bed, we may — 
we may * 

Gabrielle motioned to her to come in, holding the 
door open for her. When she had closed it again behind 
her she said faintly, ‘ Tell me all.’ 

‘ ’Twas the Sickness. ’Tis worse, it seems, in Savoy 
than even here. He came to Lormayeur with it on him, 
already struck for death. But the Count of Lormayeur 
and his lady, being friendly to our people, took him 
in and cared for him ; which, considering they are 
Papists, seems an act of Christian charity hard to 
believe. And then — ’ she finished with a sob, * there, on 
the third day — he died.’ 

‘ But I don’t understand. He was not in Savoy, but 
in France,’ faltered Gabrielle, bewildered. More than 
once, during the watches of that strange night, she had 
prayed for him, and for the faithful in Besangon to 
whom Master Calvin, just before his illness, had sent 
him on some mission. How little she knew ! How 
little any one knew ! And how infinitely little anything 
mattered, save to do the will of God ! 

But that will was not to be done by sitting solitary, 
and weeping for the dead — who were not ker dead, 
even. It demanded, not resignation only, but action. So 
Gabrielle presently girded her soul with strength, and 
went to the house of her friends, to perform the daily 
round of necessary homely duties, and thus to set the 
burdened wife and mother free for the weightier task 
that had devolved upon her. 

As she worked on, ‘ toiling still with busy hand,’ 
some things she had not understood before grew clear 
355 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

and plain to her. A sudden sorrow, like a lightning 
flash in the darkness, is a great revealer. She could 
not have put these things into words to save her very 
life, yet there they stood, not to be ignored or mistaken. 
Now she knew what was right, could recognize and 
name it, as she * called her hand her own.’ And that 
thing for her was revealed to herself alone, not to any 
other being on earth, not even to Master John Calvin. 
That was what the text meant that bade her call no 
man her father on earth, for One was her Father, even 
God. She could never be the wife of Ambrose de 
Marsac. For, while it is somethnes God’s will that we 
should sacrifice ourselves to others, it is always His will 
that we should be just and true — to others, and no less 
to ourselves also. If she were to do this thing, she 
would be just and true neither to Ambrose de Marsac, 
nor yet to another person, one Gabrielle Berthelier, 
who also had rights and claims, whom God had 
redeemed, for whom He cared, and for whom He would 
reckon with her at the Last Day. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


THE END 

A FEW days later, two wayfarers from Switzerland 
to Geneva drew near the Porte de Rive. One 
was of low stature, bent still lower by age and 
weakness. Dusty and travel-worn, he leant heavily on 
the arm of his companion, a tall young man of six or 
seven and twenty, with a well-knit, athletic frame and 
handsome face. Norbert de Caulaincourt was doing 
his work well in the Church and in the world : every 
feature, every movement showed the brave and capable 
man, prompt to serve, fit to rule, and ready for either 
as God willed. His face, at once powerful and refined, 
was just now shaded with sorrow. His fellow-traveller, 
the aged Reformer, William Farel, had been repeating to 
him word for word — for he knew every word by heart — 
Master Calvin’s last letter to himself. 

‘Farewell, my best and most faithful brother, since 
it is God’s will that you should survive ; live in the 
constant recollection of our union, which, in so far as it 
was useful to the Church of God, will still bear for us 
abiding fruit in heaven. I wish you not to fatigue 
yourself on my account. My breath is weak, and I 
continually expect it to leave me. It is enough for me 
357 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

that I live and die in Christ, who is gain to His people 
both in life and death. Once more farewell to thee, 
and to all the brethren thy colleagues.’ 

*And yet. father,’ Norbert said, ^you come.* 

‘What would you have? We are brothers. And 
remember, it was I that gave him to Geneva. He said 
he wanted quiet to study and to write. And I — I 
invoked the curse of God upon his studies and his 
writings, if for them he refused the call to this city. 
When, for all answer, he laid his hand in mine, I knew 
that Geneva was saved. But I did not know then that 
so was the cause of Truth throughout the world. Young 
man, I am no prophet, but this I can tell you — so long 
as the world lasts neither the name of John Calvin nor 
the work he has done will be forgotten.’ 

A sigh of weariness interrupted the eager words. 
The old man of fourscore had toiled on foot all the 
weary way from Neufchatel to Geneva, for this farewell 
visit to the friend and brother of his heart. 

‘ Here we are, father,’ said Norbert, as they 
approached the gate. ‘ God grant we be in time ! * 

‘ He will grant it,’ said the sanguine Farel. 

In fact, a day and a night of sweet communion were 
given to these friends of thirty years, as they waited 
together on the borders of the river, not dark to either, 
and bright indeed to him whose footsteps were to cross 
it first. 

When Norbert and Farel passed together through 
the gate, Norbert of course supposed that the aged 
Reformer, whom no one in Geneva had expected ever to 
see again, would be the centre of universal interest. 
What was his amazement when, scarcely noticing his 

358 


The End 


venerable companion, every one crowded round him, 
cheering, congratulating, welcoming — some even weeping 
for joy ! His fellow-townsmen all knew him, and nearly 
all loved him — but what had he done to deserve from 
them such a reception as this? People he scarcely 
recognized pressed about him, eager to touch his hand, 
to embrace him even, if they could ; and he could hear 
the cry that ran along the street, bringing the women 
and children out of the houses — ‘ Norbert de Caulaincourt 
is here ! Norbert de Caulaincourt has come back ! ’ 

It was really some minutes before he understood, so 
bewildered was he by the unexpected ovation. At last 
it was the cry of a poor crippled lad whom he had 
befriended that brought him illumination. ‘ Thank God, 
Master Norbert, you were dead, and are alive again ! ’ 

* If I was, I never heard of it,* said Norbert. ‘ Who 
told you ? ’ 

* A grey-foot ; said you died in Savoy, of the 
Sickness.* 

‘ I have not been in Savoy since you saw me,* said 
Norbert Then, observing the fatigue of his aged 
companion, 'Stay us not, dear friends,’ he added. 'Master 
Farel is very weary, having travelled on foot from 
Neufchatel. Let me bring him without delay to Master 
Calvin. And tell us, I pray you, how it goes with him > ’ 

' No change, M. Norbert, save that he grows weaker 
every day. But the news of your safety will do him 
good.* 

Half an hour afterwards, Norbert was knocking at 
the door of the bookbinder in the Rue Cornavin. It 
was opened to him by Gabrielle Berthelier—and the 
news of his return had not reached her yet 
359 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

She had kept a long and weary watch beside two 
sick beds, followed by hard work in the household of her 
friends, and ending in the supreme emotion of her 
interview with Calvin, the night of anguish afterwards, 
and the next morning’s shock and horror. Her soul 
had been strong to suffer, but her frame was not strong 
enough to bear the revulsion of a sudden joy. Never 
having swooned before, her amazement was great when 
she found herself presently in Norbert’s arms, while half 
the household stood around them with frightened faces. 
The first thing she heard was Antoine Calvin’s kind 
voice. ‘ She is coming to herself,’ he said ; and then he 
helped Norbert to lay her comfortably upon a settle in 
the living-room. ‘ Poor child ! ’ he added, as he placed a 
pillow under her head, ‘she is worn out. She needs 
comfort Comfort her thou, Master Norbert* 

Later, Ambrose de Marsac came, full of joy, to 
congratulate Norbert, having heard of his safe return. 
He was well acquainted with the house of the Calvins, 
so he asked Grillet to leave him at the door, which 
chanced to be open, and to come back for him in an 
hour. Guided by the voice of Norbert, he went on 
boldly, and turned into the room fiom which the sound 
came. Perhaps it was well for him then that the gift 
of sight was denied. For Norbert and Gabrielle stood 
together, and on both their faces was a look that would 
have gone to his heart like a dagger. 

Norbert was instantly at his side, grasping his hand. 
But Ambrose, after the French manner, embraced him 
heartily, saying in the gladness of his heart, ‘ “ This my 
brother was dead, and is alive again.” ’ 

360 


The End 


‘Ay ; my good friends have had a vain alarm about 
me. But I am still very anxious on my father’s account. 
The story, I fear, may be true of him. He has been in 
Savoy.* 

* I don’t think it. There is no depending on these 
grey-feet, they tell so many lies. Besides, our man was 
confident it was you. “ The young gentleman,” he said.’ 
Here he paused, ‘ Norbert, there is some one else in the 
room. Who is it ? * 

‘ It is I,* said Gabrielle, coming forward, and laying 
her hand gently on his arm. 

The face with the darkened windows seemed to glow 
with some inner light. ‘ It needed not to speak,’ he 
said, ‘ the step, the touch told.’ 

‘ And you will be yet more glad for me,’ Norbert 
began ; but Gabrielle withdrew her hand from Ambrose 
to place it warningly on his. 

‘ More glad for you ? ’ repeated Ambrose. ‘ Why ? ’ 

Gabrielle’s gesture of warning was lost upon Norbert. 
He answered simply, though his voice had in it an under- 
thrill of feeling, ‘ Because, not five minutes ago, Gabrielle 
Berthelier promised to be my wife.’ 

There was a long silence. Many changes passed 
over the blind man’s face, revealing nothing new to 
Gabrielle, but to Norbert, much. At last, Ambrose de 
Marsac, gentleman of France, with a calm and self- 
repression worthy of his race, made courteous answer 
to Norbert de Caulaincourt — 

‘ Brother, thou art no prodigal ; though, like him, thou 
comest back to a joyful welcome. Nor will I be the 
elder son. Take the best robe and the ring — yea, take 
the crown also, and God bless thee ! ’ 

361 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

He turned to go. Norbert sprang forward, ofTerin^; 
his arm, but he put it aside. ‘ Grillet will come,’ he said. 
‘ Stay thou with mademoiselle.’ 

How it had all come about, neither Norbert nor 
Gabrielle ever told ; although neither then nor after had 
either the smallest doubt that it was the thing that ‘ had 
to be.’ 

A few days afterwards, on the evening of the 19th 
of May, Germain de Caulaincourt returned in safety, to 
the great joy and relief of his son, who had been vainly 
trying to get tidings of him. It was true that he had 
been ill, though not of the plague ; and true, also, that he 
had been hospitably received and tended at Lormayeur, 
from whence he had hastened, hoping to be in time to 
see Master Calvin once more. He was not disappointed. 

The day following, the 20th of May, the pastors of 
Geneva used to meet together every year for what we 
should call a ‘clerical dinner,’ though they called it 
‘ the Censures,’ because they were supposed to use the 
opportunity for ‘ fraternally admonishing ’ one another.' 
On this occasion it was Calvin’s particular desire to 
have the entertainment at his house, so as to meet once 
more with his dear brethren. The two Caulaincourts 
were among the invited guests ; since, though not 
ordained pastors, they were recognized and honoured 
servants of the Church. 

Strengthened by an adamantine will, perhaps also 
by the last flicker of the failing lamp of life, Calvin took 
his seat at the table, and offered a short prayer. He 
even ate a little, ‘ endeavouring to enliven us,’ as Beza, 
his friend and biographer, said afterwards. Those 
around him sought to keep up the appearance of 
362 


The End 


cheerfulness by at least a semblance of ordinary talk. 
Presently, in a momentary lull of voices, Pastor Poupin 
was heard saying to some one who sat near, ‘ We 
shall meet on Monday at the betrothal of Norbert de 
Caulaincourt and Gabrielle Berthelier.’ The words 
caught that keen and eager ear which was so soon to 
be closed to all earthly sounds. The dying man, with 
something like a start, raised himself slightly, and 
looked full at Norbert, as one surprised. Then, in a 
moment, the surprised look passed, the searching eyes 
softened, and the pale face relaxed into a smile of 
content and acquiescence. For now the ruler had laid 
down his sceptre, the steward had given up his charge 
into the Master’s own hand, where it was safer far than 
it had been in his. Norbert never forgot that look, 
although he did not then know its full significance. It 
was a benediction without words. 

Soon afterwards it became evident to the guests 
that their host was utterly exhausted, and Beza and the 
others entreated him to rest ; so he was borne by loving 
hands to the adjoining room, and laid upon the couch 
he was never to leave again. 

After that day he spoke with men scarce at all, but 
with God continually. The week that remained to him 
on earth seemed but one long impassioned prayer. At 
last, on the evening of the 27th of May, the watchers 
around him heard him saying, ‘ The sufferings of this 
present time are not worthy to be compared with the 

glory ’ Here his voice failed, and in another 

moment that glory was ‘ revealed ’ to him. After his 
name in the Consistorial registry were inscribed the 
simple words, ‘ Went to God, Saturday the 27th.’ 

363 


Under Calvin’s Spell 

There was a grave in the Plain-palais, undistinguished 
by name, or mark, or monument. But the mark was 
upon the history of the Church and the world, and the 
monument was Geneva, the city of his creation. She 
continued long what he made her, the refuge of the 
oppressed, and the stronghold of Piotestantism. Many 
children she had who rose up to call her blessed, and 
amongst them none nobler, more loving, and more 
beloved than Norbert de Caulaincourt and his wife, 
Gabrielle Berthelier. For some years Norbert continued, 
through much peril, to pursue the calling he had chosen 
for himself ; and he was known in more lands than one 
by the honourable title of ‘ the friend of the martyrs.’ 
Eventually he was ordained, and accepted a pastorate 
in Genevan territory, though he still made frequent 
journeys into foreign lands on the business of the 
Churches. During one of the brief breathing times, 
when the Huguenots of France enjoyed peace and 
toleration, he went with his father to Gourgolles ; and 
there, to the intense satisfaction of the elder De 
Caulaincourt, the ties of affection were re-knit once 
more. All the family were friendly ; Norbert even 
found a promising young nephew willing to embrace 
Protestantism, and to come to Geneva to complete his 
education at the celebrated academy. 

For himself, he ever returned with joy and gladness 
to the happy home of which Gabrielle was the centre. 
A group of merry children grew around them. Louis, 
the first-born, was the pride and treasure of his blind 
godfather, Ambrose de Marsac ; whilst Ami, the next in 
age, gave all the love he could spare from home to their 
frequent visitor, the stately, learned, and gracious Dr. 
364 


The End 


Theodore Beza. The three little sisters who made the 
household band complete were Claudine, Arietta, and — 
so called at the special request of Gabrielle — Yolande. 
All entered early upon their traditional inheritance 
of high thought and noble living ; and all held it 
unreproved, and passed it on undimmed and untarnished, 
to those that should come after. 


THE END 


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